All the Time in the World
by HellGS
Summary: It is the grand principle of Ascension - not to mingle with mortals, but what if there are those, who make rules of their own rather then follow those already made? The Goa'uld have no sympathy but to themselves, know no empathy, care for no one - but what if this not entirely true? An AU starting from S8, with somewhat different perception of events. OC.
1. Best laid plans

**Disclaimer**: **I do not own Stargate but no copyright infringement is intended. I do not own the series characters. I make no profit, naturally. Well, I guess you know the drill by now.**

**A/N: This is the beginning of a story I dedicate to the most amusing System Lord ever. And Cliff Simon as Ba'al **_**so**_** rocks!**

**A/A/N**** I finally have finished Sam&Ba'al video and quite pleased with the result, so for those who interested - the link is in the profile.**

**Best laid plans**

_I tried so hard and got so far_

_But in the end_

_It doesn't even matter_

_I had to fall, to loose it all_

(**Linkin Park**, _In the End_)

"My Lord," his First Prime speaks, genuflected before the throne chair dais, head half-bowed in a gesture of reverence, "you are victorious. Camulus' forces ceased to exist. He himself is detained and awaits your judgment."

"Avidan*," the System Lord currently occupying a seat of power says eyeing his Jaffa benevolently and gives a satisfied nod. "You have done well."

"Avidan," the whole room echoes as his slaves repeat the praise lowering their heads.

"Shall I bring him before my God's eyes?" Ar'tak ventures, a golden mark on his forehead that has been molded into the living flesh glimmers in a torch light as he lifts his head to look up at his master.

"Why, and deprive him of a pleasure enjoying his knew accommodation so soon?" The Goa'uld's lips twitch in wry amusement. "That wouldn't be so courteous now, would it?"

He stands, adjusting his long brown richly gold-donned cloak with a practiced grace and walks off the dais, stopping in front of his knelt servant.

"I shall visit him myself. A good _host_ ought to make sure his _guest_ has it best."

His low chuckle vibrates trough the air, an innuendo he has implied is blatantly obvious, but of course no one dares to share the jest; Gods may do what cattle may not.

The First Prime rises and gestures to others Jaffa be ready escort their master. As the System Lord leaves the chamber they form a defensive perimeter; two guards precede him, another pair keeps behind. He also shows Ar'tak to walk by his side - a token of the current favour.

"Are there any Camulus' Jaffa yielded to our dominance?" he asks as they walk down the mothership long passage heading towards the prison block, his tone changed completely from previous mocking amusement to all-business.

"We have plenty of those, my Lord. All surrenders were spared, just like you ordered."

"Camulus is going to be beside himself," the right corner of his master's mouth tugs upwards at the thought. "Although, what he had expected I would never know; it was painfully obvious from the very beginning that our victory had been inevitable."

"My Lord's strategy is always as flawless as his tactics uncommon. Our adversary, however…"

"Do not forget yourself," the displeasure of the Goa'uld's tone makes his Jaffa flinch. "You are not to judge a God, however not bright he may be."

"Forgive me, my Lord, I meant no disrespect. I merely was saying that Lord Camulus' battle tactics were obviously no match to yours."

"Well, there is that, of course." The System Lord makes a vague gesture with his left hand and a gem of the kara-kesh on his palm sparks merrily. "You're pardoned. Now, about these Jaffa…"

* * *

><p>As a panel door slides open, Camulus raises his head to meet a sigh of his capture's disgustedly pleased face. He stands abruptly only to be met with sounds of charged staff weapons already aimed at him.<p>

"You will pay for this dearly!" he snaps, agitated and frightened at the same time.

"Kree*, Jaffa." The other System Lord drops casually and the staff points are immediately lifted upwards.

He folds his hands over the chest then, his head cocked to the left, eying the Goa'uld before him cheerfully.

"Come now, Camulus, there is no need to get too… _exited_." The last one word comes as a chuckle.

"The High Council will suffer no more of your impertinence," Camulus retorts haughtily. "You are to be crashed in no time."

He would really like to believe his own words. Alas, the System Lord currently standing in front of him with that maddening smirk of his, suddenly proved to be more then any of them had ever anticipated. So, his threats are pretty much hollow right now and judging from the amused expression of the said Lord he knows it well, too. But that's how the game played within their kind, and so he ventures further.

"Even with the scraps of Anubis' former power you are no match for our combine forces. Release me now or…"

"Or _what_," the other one lifts his eyebrow, "you are to be avenged greatly? _Please_, Camulus, no one cares what happens to a looser, that's how it works. We both aware of that, so spare me rhetorics."

"What are you going to do with me?" Camulus' tone is wary and the tension in his posture is rather transparent.

"Well, now we are talking," the captor says sounding fairly satisfied and one loud snap of his long fingers sends all Jaffa out. With a soft whoosh the panel shuts back.

Some things are bound to be kept just between the Gods.

"Sit," the System Lord orders when they are alone and takes a few steps forward, eyes flashing with white-gold light. "I have a proposition for you."

* * *

><p>As the prison door opens Jaffa snap to attention. From the expression his master wears when he leaves the ward, Ar'tak knows immediately that everything went according to his wish. Nothing new here, really - his Lord tends to have things his way more often than not, despite the odds.<p>

Sokar could've said something on the matter indeed, would he still be alive.

"Take several Jaffa that former of Camulus' - the less worthy ones, of course - and have a vessel prepared. Our guest leaves us," he says and even his flange rumbles with satisfaction.

"My Lord," the First Prime quires and shows his willingness to carry out his master's orders at the same time.

Even his robes sweeps triumphantly as the System Lord half-turns to the Jaffa and flashes a sly grin as they leave the area.

"I feel rather charitable today."

"As you wish,"' Ar'tak inclines his head, giving up of understanding what his God has plotted this time. "Shall I prepare Lord Camulus' Ha'tak*?"

"Charitable I said, not wasteful." The Goa'uld utters with a mild irritation. "Tel'tak* will have to do just fine."

* * *

><p>He lays sprawled on the enormously-sized bed covered with the aureate silken sheets, naked - the bed-clothing makes a fine contrast with his tanned skin, as he knows well - hands folded behind his head. The low ramble of pleasure occasionally escapes his throat as a Lo'taur* Shallan works her mouth on him.<p>

She is very good at what she does - otherwise she wouldn't be here - and very willing to serve her God if moaning sounds she somehow manages being very much _mouthful _at the momentis of any indication. Usually he finds her ministrations quite enjoyable and it not takes that much time at all for him to reach a peak.

It is not working now.

He is still too much absorbed into current events to achieve a required state of relaxation and let _her_ bring him to climax, and there is not even near enough power in this act that would lead to the sameachievement.

_Domination, _that's what he wants.

"Stop," he says and she complies at once, her lips leave him with a wet obscene squelch, eyes immediately become startled and worried that she somehow displeased him.

He sits, propping at his palms, and gives the Lo'taur scrutinizing look. She is petite and delicate, with the short light hair and big grey-blue eyes. In a way, she reminds him some piece of art - a porcelain statuette, perhaps. Nipples of her small breasts are taut dark buds now because of arousal and she wets her lips unconsciously as his eyes moves lower, stopping at the juncture of her legs.

She is young, pretty and absolutely nothing worth mentioning otherwise, really. No challenge at all. But one can not expect _that_ from a Tau'ri female.

Still, her looks will have to do in addition to her pleasure-giving skills.

"On your fours," he issues a command and yet again she complies without hesitation, turning gracefully into ordered position.

He moves up, kneels behind the Lo'taur and places his palms on her narrow hips giving the right one casual stroke before slamming in without probing if she is ready; he doesn't _have_ to.

She is dripping wet and deliciously tight. Her inner walls start clenching immediately, applying even more pressure the moment his member fills her. He drives into her hard and fast, eyes half closed, head thrown backwards, hips pound relentlessly.

Her muted soft sobs of pleasure do nothing to add to his own, rapidly building now, but the thought that his has her just as he had Camulus today on the battlefield, and then again, later, when he bent the other System Lord to his will and made him dance to his tune, well now, _that_ does it.

His breathing hitches, eyes start glowing and fingers dig into the Lo'taur's hips with a force near enough to leave bruises; his movements become jerky. Shallan responses with a ragged half-sobbing half-moaning litany, knowing only too well how close he is and obviously devastated at the prospect have it happened too soon.

"Please, ah, please, more" she chants, panting, "please, my God!"

The neediness of her supplication, the power he wields - to give her what she desires now so desperately or not - it almost pushes him over the edge.

It takes some certain amount of self-control to prolong his trusts until she utters one last wordless cry and shudders. Only when her inner walls start collapsing, milking his cock vigorously, does he let it go and comes violently, his loud flanged groan almost physically fills a bedchamber.

He stays still just for a few seconds, savoring the feeling of content, of _conquest_, knowing it won't last long. There are always plans to be laid and moves to be made for him to indulge in dwelling on some moment, however pleasant the feeling might be.

The System Lord pulls out giving Lo'taur's bottom a mild smack and stretches comfortably on the sheets whilst she climbs off the bed and then returns this instant with a golden bowl of warm water and soft piece of closing.

"That was adequate," he says as Shallan cleans him thoroughly in gentle practiced moves, being very careful of water not wetting the sheets. "I am pleased."

"It is always an honor to serve a God," she makes one last sweep of closing over his body. "And my Lord was the most kind to me today."

His eyes lit up with amusement, rich multi-tonal carries a note of teasing when he speaks.

"Charitable, yes."

She sets the basin aside and tugs the sheet upwards, covering him.

"Shall I stay with my Lord further?"

"You shall not." He closes his eyes completely, his breathing slow and relaxed. "I will not require your services any time soon. You are to leave now."

He falls asleep even before she is gone.

* * *

><p>The sound of the door-panels sliding open wakes him immediately. He blinks at the light coming through the opening, eyes adjusting quickly to the contrast between its brightness and comfortable dusk of the bedchamber.<p>

"Kel shak*?" he snaps in irritation when recognizes the Lotaur's small frame. "Have I told you not…"

"My Lord", she interrupts and he sits abruptly, right hand reaching to the headboard-shelf where among other things lays a zat'nik'tel*.

Not only never in her life had she dared to do such an unthinkable thing, to cut in when _he_ is speaking, but never had he heard such a horror in her voice too, until now.

He is not gentle. He knows that the fear _might_ be and often _is_ useful. He never hesitates to take drastic measures if there is a necessity. He is exacting, very much so. He rules with a firm hand because that's how things get done. But, unlike many others of his kin, he takes no pleasure in inflicting terror on lesser ones. He sees it as a sigh of weakness he has no desire to indulge in.

Shallan is terrified to death.

He stares narrow-eyed, zat' pointed at the entrance, as two dark unnaturally tall figures step in and then freeze at both side of the entrance. Orak*. Little good his weapon does him then, yet he lowers it not. The Lo'taur rushes to the bed as if seeking refuge and kneels beside it as close to him as possible.

He thinks briefly where exactly did it go wrong and which one of the other System Lords was able to lay his hands on this particular sweet piece of Anubis' legacy when _he_ could not. And what undoubtedly ridiculous demands Orak's new master is going to make.

"What is the meaning of this?" he vocalizes a sheer irritation only for he cannot afford to show any lack of self-confidence.

All questions are answered when a fully cloaked deep-hooded figure slowly flows in.

"Anubis," he utters trough the clenched teeth; a feeling of the déjà vu is almost overwhelming.

"It would be appropriate for you to stand before your Lord," low hollow rumble comes under the cowl.

"Mack tal shree!*"

The Kull warriors lift their weapon-hands pointing them at him.

"Only if I allow for this to be so," a menacing reply comes. "Choose now."

He knows when he is overpowered. He knows when to stop. He wouldn't have become what he is otherwise. Survive now and pay back later.

A sheet thrown aside nonchalantly, he rises from the bed, still fully naked, and props himself on a headboard, his palm casually slides on the shelf.

"Well, is the view better now?"

"Cover yourself," comes a very irritated flange-response.

Anubis _really_ does not like a reminder of his own present incorporeal state, he remembers that well. Apparently, some things are not to be changed even by re-resurrection.

"I would also advice you against trying any of your little tricks", the hollowness from under the hood utters. "They are not to work. I have taken care of that."

_The suppressing field some kind of_, he muses. One of those techs the banished System Lord managed to acquire during the time of his first 'death', probably, and didn't care to share when they were 'allies'.

"How very clever of you, _my Lord." _

He snaps his fingers and Shallan, who seemed to be not even breathing all this time, approaches him immediately with his closing and starts to get him dressed.

"Impudence." Anubis observes in a process.

"Rest assured, it was meant as a compliment," he lies blatantly and they both know it.

The protocol is unbreached, though.

When fully dressed and even kara-kesh has taken its rightful place on his left hand with Anubis' silent permission, he gestures towards the exit.

"Shall we relocate somewhere more suitable for our… negotiation?"

"It is past time. I could have conquered a system whilst you were indulging your vanity."

_At least I still have something I can be vain about_, he thinks briefly. Outside, he just shrugs nonchalantly.

"It could have gone much promptly was I notified about your arrival."

"That, yes. And it would also have give you plenty of time to throw some fit," Anubis chuckles darkly. "So, you see, I decided against it, however amusing it could have been. Although I admit, it did might left you with more active Jaffa, your late First Prime included."

He cannot help it - his temper flares and incandescence fills the eyes. His metal-clad fingers make a dull clank as he controls his left hand stay in place. His tone however, as he speaks, is light and flippant.

"Not to worry. I am just to put him through the sarcophagus now."

The black hood with the golden ending turns to pause upon him.

"He dared to defy me. There is not nearly enough left to be resurrected. It will serve you well to remember that, Ba'al."

Goa'uld language:

*Avidan - Gods are just;

*Kara-kesh - hand devise, often called ribbon devise;

*Kree - multi-meaning word, often used as a call to attention, as a command;

*Ha'tak - Goa'uld attack vessel;

*Tel'tak - Goa'uld scout ship capable of cloaking;

*Lo'taur - personal slave, high-ranking human servant;

*Zat'nik'tel - also known as zat' - energy weapon capable of stunning, killing and disintegrating;

*Kel shak - What is it?

*Orak - unspeakable, Kull warriors;

*Mack tal shree! - I am the Lord!


	2. A path to take

**2. A path to take**

_Out on the front line _

_Don't worry I'll be fine_

_The story is just beginning_

_I say goodbye to my weakness _

_So long to the regret_

_And now I know that I'm alive_

(**Shinedown**,_ Diamond eyes_)

The steam flows slowly over two small delicate china cups and a tea-pot filling the shimmering candle-lit air with a tasty fragrance of a few skillfully mixed herbs. The night is cool, and a small pergola hidden in the depth of a well-attended garden is hardly provides that much of a shelter. This, however, leaves seemingly undisturbed its current occupants.

A very low, dais-like, small redwood table separates two sitting seiza style and facing each other figures with straitened back-lines and palms resting on knees.

Their clothes are striking white thin neck-to-toe cloaks with long sleeves revealing only fingertips. Their shoulder-length hair cut in somewhat identical style, although the color is different. There is enough similarity in their features for them being taken for relatives and yet… it would be difficult to find more unlike personalities than these two women enjoying their late cup of tea.

"One part of jasmine, one of lime, two pepper-mints plus basic," the younger one, whose thick mess of a brown hair diluted with the outstanding white strands, says. "You always had a propensity for complicating things."

"How would you know the turn not taken is the wrong one?" the older one, dark-haired and with beautiful kind brown eyes woman smiles amicably bringing a cup to her lips.

"See, that's exactly what I meant. You could've simply said, _without trying one would never know_. " She takes a cup up to her face too and inhales, obviously enjoying the smell. "Though I must admit, in this particular case complicity is not excessive."

"I am glad we agree at least on this one," Oma Desala notes after taking a sip. "The stakes are rather high."

"You misread me, my old friend." The other one smiles a little ruefully and her eyes more then anything reminding of constantly shifting and changing flames flash in the candle-light brightly. "The tea is nice and tasty, yes. My decision, however, still stands."

"I cannot stop you, that much I know," Oma's tone is concerned, worried even, "but I beg you to reconsider. The others…"

"Won't stop me either." Full lips twitch in a slight amusement. "That would be _so_ against their precious rules."

"That they are might not going to do," the older woman nods her agreement, "but neither will they help, nor they will let _me_ do so after you're done. That is, of course, _if_ you are to succeed."

"And why, again, would I need their help in a first place?" One shapely eyebrow rises in a mocking surprise. "Last time I've done fairly well without it. Also, your voice of confidence in my… ah, say, _abilities _ is rather comforting."

She finishes her tea and goes for pouring some more, an uncomfortable length of the robe sleeves does nothing to interfere with preciseness and gracefulness of her movements.

Oma sighs cradling the cup in her palms, taking in the warmth of it.

She doesn't _need _ it, of course, but the feeling is nice and cozy one. If anything, it reminds her of times long gone, of who she was and who she ceased to be. It also reminds her why they are having this conversation in a first place; despite their obvious differences they both _care_.

"Don't get me wrong – what you have done is… of a great importance," she finely says. "As reckless as your design was, you've managed it nevertheless. Now, when the seeds are planted, let us wait for a yield."

"One would think two thousand years of waiting should be more then enough," an immediate reply comes. "I am _tired_ of waiting."

_Over ten millennia past Ascension and she is still so… vivid_, Oma thinks.

"Time is relative," she says instead aloud.

"Tell that countless sentient beings that suffer and die as we speak. The Goa'uld System Lords have Avalon* scourged for thousand years, yes, but even they were terrified and disgusted by Anubis."

Oma's head jerks as if she was slapped.

"You, of all… I thought, wouldn't…" she finely manages, but a very harsh voice interlaced with a note of a flange interrupts her stumbling.

"Do not insult my intelligence by vocalizing an assumption that I somehow could be holding you responsible for this mess, however oblique."

The younger one's posture is a perfect stillness, the cup in her hand not as much as stirs; her nostrils are flaring, however, and it takes some time for the hot white light to leave her eyes. The moment passes and she sighs, relaxing visually.

"I apologize for a… emotional outburst," her voice is mild and calm again, as if nothing ever happened, "but you should never say such thing. Not to me. Not when I know only too well the parts we all have had in it."

Oma looks at her silently, two red spots of distress still darkening her cheeks.

"Oh, yes, you let that sneaky son of a snake to trick you." The other woman puts her cup on the table and refills another one, abandoned, offering it to Oma - a gesture of peace sort of. "Should I remind you what a remarkably poor job our notoriously _non-interfering _brethren did de-ascending him? As for myself… well, as you know, I'm the reason he exists in a first place."

"That is not so," the older woman shakes her denial. "You couldn't possibly have known that it'll come to that, and you _do not know_ whether it would be like this or not, if things were different."

"No?" The younger one presses her lips together in a hard line. "I backed up when I was bid to and I shouldn't have; that kind of job you either do properly or don't start it at all. The Asurans* should've taught us at least that much."

"Some lessons are harder to learn than the others."

Oma's composure is fully regained. All in all, it's not her _feelings_ that matter now, not when there is so much at stake, not when her one and only remaining friend is going to do something that reckless, again. It is dangerous enough to walk the line, like she does, helping to some ascend from time to time; direct interference, however, is an entirely different matter.

The worst part of it, though, she doesn't really know _should_ she even be trying to stop this venture, assuming that it is even _possible, _of course.

The part of her that submits to the rules and knows losses only too well says 'yes'.

But there is a different side of her, too, rebellious one at that which agrees wholeheartedly with her friend's next words.

"Two Galaxies desperately straggling with the consequences of _our _ actions for thousands years. I say, it is past time to do _something_ about that."

_She won't stop_, Oma realizes, _clearly_ _her path is already set_.

"Maybe you right," she says, defeated, with a rueful smile on her face, "it's just…I have lost almost everything and I don't want to loose you, too."

"Rest assured," the younger woman lips curls in return, "that is not my intention."

She puts an empty cup on the table, places both palms on her knees and gives her vis-a-vis a respectful bow. "I thank you for the tea and your hospitality, Oma. Now, I shall go."

She awaits until the older woman responds in the same fashion, then rises on her feet in one swift fluid motion.

"It's like you said," she adds before she starts walking away, "the only way to know if the path you've chosen is a right or wrong one - is to take it."

"Aeris," Oma calls as she fallows the departing silhouette with her eyes, "aveo, amica*."

She stops and casts a glance back over her left shoulder. "Aveo non, Oma*."

And then she is gone.

Ancient words and terms 

***** Avalon – Milky Way Galaxy

***** Asurans – Pegasus Replicators

***** Aveo, amica – Farewell, my friend

* Aveo non – No goodbyes


	3. Down the rabbit hole

**Down the rabbit hole**

_There sat a new test_

_Much harder then you bought in_

_As for the unseen,_

_Just take care of what you will_

(**Chevelle**, _Sleep __Apnea_)

"I hope this isn't a mistake," Colonel Samantha Carter mutters as the ring-transporter delivers them… well, _somewhere_ that looks remarkably like a cave, after she fails to notice a control panel anywhere near the platform on_ this_ end.

"Well, that's certainly new," Dr. Daniel Jackson agrees, probably already has discovered the same. "Interesting manifestation of hospitality I would call it: everyone allowed in but no-one comes out."

Teal'c silently lifts his right eyebrow but obviously has nothing to add at the moment.

"That makes absolutely no sense," Sam continues, eyeing the cave that looks very much cave-ish ordinary - except for slightly luminous with red walls - and has no visual points of access whatsoever. Or anything else, for this matter - the damn cavern is absolutely _empty_. No carvings on the walls, no energy fields and no mysterious devises. "Why would anyone placed one-way ring platform here?"

Just in case she looks up; nope, nothing remarkable there as well, the same stone mass projecting dim red light. Carter starts to doubt Anubis had_ ever_ visited the place. So much for the _secret__ lab_ that preliminary intel was hinting about.

"Maybe it wasn't originally meant to be this way," Daniel points a flash-light at the closest to the platform section of the wall – where the control normally would more likely be - and taps his finger at it. When Sam moves closer she can see that this piece looks like something has been removed from it – something remarkably reminding a transporter control panel by its size.

The Universe definitely has a foul sense of humor; her very first mission as the commanding officer of SG-1 after Jack O'Niell's sudden promotion - a simple reconnaissance, at that - and there they are, trapped God knows where with no way out.

Not that there's anything wrong about that; just another merry day off-world, right?

Sam procures a tablet from her back-pack and starts scanning the area while Daniel takes closer look at the other sections of the cave wall. Teal'c leans at his staff-weapon looking relaxed, but in this particular case appearance is very much deceptive. Samantha knows that he is fully alerted and ready for whatever surprise might – or more likely _will_ - fall on their heads.

"There _must_ be a way out," she says with what she hopes will pass as an unshakable confidence.

"Don't worry, Sam, we'll find it," Daniel offers instant reassurance and this time Teal'c joins to him with very firmly placed _'__indeed__'_', which tells her in no uncertain terms that the entire _fear-not-as-I__'__m-your-big-and-strong-commander_ act has been failed miserably.

_Back__ to__ the__ being__ a __geek __then_, she thinks studying the tablet screen. It appears that cave's surroundings give slight energy signature - probably due to the same thing that makes walls glow - which barely registers at all, except for the…

Now, _that_ is interesting.

"I think I found something," she calls to her friends. "Look, the wall over their" – she points to the farthest from the platform part of the cave – "gives strange energy reading."

Teal'c proceeds to the point of destination immediately and gives the wall there a tap of his staff point.

"There is nothing here, Samantha Carter," he states as the wall produces only so much as a dull _clack_.

"Wait a minute, let me look," Daniel joins him and big Jaffa steps aside politely "Right here, Sam?"

The archaeologist brushes his fingers at the wall and snatches them back at ones as they actually dive in it. "Whoa!"

"What, what is it?" Sam hurries to them, startled, because Daniel does have a habit to poke his, well, in that case not nose but fingers in all kind of dangerous stuff. Got him killed once.

"Nothing," he calms her down quickly and adds in confused and apologetic tone, "I mean literally. There is _nothing_ here, no wall."

"That's not what I thought Teal'c meant when he said 'nothing's here'. "

She looks at Jaffa who confirms her statement with a nod. Sam stares at the tablet, but there is not much to work with on screen too; unknown faint energy reading, period.

"Ok," she muses, "so we have something that acts like solid object as a reaction to the Teal'c's staff but lets Daniel's hand through as if it was a… hologram?"

"I state for this to be correct," Jaffa says. "Never before I have encountered such a technology."

"Not the Goa'uld handiwork then?" Daniel muses.

Sam sighs and puts the tablet aside, adjusting her grip on P-90. Teal'c catches up immediately and gives her querying look. She shakes her head; though he is a formidable warrior, but it is she who is in charge now. Hers is the first risk to take. Jaffa responds with respectful bow and stays put.

"Well, there is only one way to know for sure, isn't it?" Carter responds to Daniel's earlier question before stepping right into the wall.

* * *

><p>"Now, that's more like it," she says looking at the large chamber, walls covered with a carving that Daniel recognizes at first sign as Ancient - very archaic Ancient to be precise - and some pieces of equipment have earned a lift of Teal'c's eyebrow, which marks them as a Goa'uld induced.<p>

After they successfully left the cave – the _wall_ did let them through without any problems - there was a lot of waking by long empty poorly lit and very much entangled corridors many of which leaded to the dead ends. Or so it would seem.

This chamber, lab, or whatever it is, was their first real finding.

"Daniel," Sam calls pointing at the writing at the walls, "I would really like to know what these say."

"On it," he responds enthusiastically, already working.

"Teal'c…"

"Indeed, Colonel Carter." Jaffa starts carefully set aside tech pieces he has recognized. "I must mention this not much of value, however. It is like various equipment was dismantled to the spare parts that meant to be reassembled in a different way. Like this."

He shows her some horrific hybrid of TEF*, zat' and something she didn't even recognizes and frankly speaking, not even sure she wants to know what _it_ supposed to do.

"Well, I guess, that pinpoints the lab on Anubis after all," Sam mutters.

"That would be my thought as well," Teal'c agrees, "though Anubis wasn't the only one of the False Gods fond of technology. It is by its merits only they were able to have so many others fooled into worshiping them for so long."

"Then I say, it would be only fair if something we have found here will help us settle a score."

Smile is a rear guest on Jaffa's face, yet it appears when Teal'c lifts his head in agreement.

Sam leaves him to his current task and heads towards some strange sphere-thing placed on one of the desks. It doesn't look much like a devise – delicate wickerwork tangle of silver straps adorned with numerous sparkling crystals, blue and white – but more like piece of art. It is not that big, too, could be easily placed on her palm and then it would have some room left.

For what Samantha can see, there is no power source inside the item or somehow attached to it, too. It's beautiful, though.

"Daniel, where are we on this translation?" she says, taking the object and lifting it to her face for the better look. What Sam discovers is that the straps move, so the pattern of crystals changes.

It somewhat reminds her Rubik's Cube. Sam also smiles thinking that Goa'uld version would be a pyramid since they seem to fancy this particular form so much. She used to own one too, found it very easy to solve. Of course Goa'uld riddle ought to be golden-made instead of mere plastic.

"I'm not quite sure," Jackson mutters, fingers brushing gently ancient symbols on the wall. "It says something about going in circles, or it could be an endless journey. The dialect seems to be pretty old and the Ancients _did_ love write in riddles."

He stops at one particular section. "There is a mention about infinity, I believe. Look, there is its symbol."

"The one we have seen before, similar to the Earth infinity sign?" Sam specifies.

The 'Ancients loving riddle' part gives her sudden idea.

"Ah, yes, yes that one." Her friend confirms.

Carter begins to work at puzzle-sphere in earnest ignoring curious glances from Teal'c who seems to be finished his own task. One last move of her fingers and she has a white infinity sign assembled, though blue crystals are still in disarray.

"Daniel, look…" is all she manages to say before the sphere that appeared to be a device after all flashes with blinding white light.

When Daniel and Teal'c are having their eyesight back, their new commanding officer is nowhere to be seen. The tricky sphere lies on the floor.

"This is _not_ good', Daniel sighs.

"Indeed."

* * *

><p>The light dissipates and Sam finds herself in a perfect replica of the lab she has just left. Only there is nothing here, at all. The walls still have carvings in Ancient she unable to read, of course, but that's pretty much it; no stone desks, no pieces of equipment and what is the most unsettling – Daniel and Teal'c are gone as well. Just like the exit.<p>

"Guys, where are you?" she calls and that sounds stupid the very moment words have left her mouth.

It is only logical to assume that her teammates are still back in the lab whilst she is… well, God knows where, trapped. Again.

Carter exams surroundings carefully looking for any clues, for anything at all that might give her an idea as to why would ancient puzzle has her transported here. There got to be a reason, right? Also, she would very much like to know where exactly _here_ is; is it even the same place?

The light that pulled her from the lab had certain resemblance to the Asgard beam, although the feeling was somewhat different, gentler, so to speak. If her assumption correct, however, she may just as well be on another planet completely at the moment as being at different part of original complex.

She _really_ hopes for the latter, but you never know with the Ancients. There was quite startling precedent with Colonel O'Neill and former Colonel Maybourne.

Samantha scans the room in secret hope to find something similar the hidden entrance, like the one back in the cave, but to no avail. The readings are clear, no energy spikes at all. She briefly considers her possibilities.

If she is to know what lies behind the walls she could try to blast her way out with C-4 she luckily has on her. But if she is - for example - on the spaceship, that would be very, very bad idea especially if the wall is an exterior one.

The problem is - her scan wasn't designed for that kind of task, so there is no way for her to know for sure until she leaves this chamber.

Colonel Carter sighs and sets about studying writings on the walls, trying to remember everything she has ever learned from Daniel. All in all, it might be that the Goa'uld have picked up a habit unlock the doors by pressing certain glyphs from their predecessors`.

* * *

><p>"Daniel Jackson, do you believe this is wise?" Teal'c says as his friend works on the sphere.<p>

"Look, it's obviously that Sam's disappearance has everything to do with this," he shows Jaffa an item. "She had put together one symbol, but the puzzle is still incomplete. So, I've being thinking, if assembling one sign sends you… well, somewhere, the chances are that solving the whole riddle is what brings you back."

Daniel knows he is gabbling but can't really help it; it's not his fault after all that he thinks so much faster that normal speech wouldn't be able to catch up with.

Teal'c gives him one of his skeptical looks. "It also may do something undesirable to Colonel Carter or even get her killed."

"Point taken," Jackson nods, "but I really don't think this is the case. It's clearly designed for some transportation purpose; otherwise what was going to happen with Sam would have happened here, right? Also the Ancients really weren't into some perverted way of killing, quite the opposite, actually. I believe it's our best chance to get our commander back."

"Is it possible that disassembling a sign and than reassembling it again will send us to Samantha Carter?"

Daniel frowns, affected if only a little that he hadn't thought about it himself and moves a strap there and back. Nothing happens.

"Well, that was worth trying," she smiles to his friend and Teal'c responds bowing his head slightly. "Now, get yourself comfortable, it might take some time."

* * *

><p>Sam stares at the damnable infinity sign she already starts to hate. Unfortunately, it's the only one she recognizes for sure. Carter makes a mental note to have Ancient studied properly when she is out of this mess.<p>

Touching and pressing some other vaguely familiar and _a __lot_ of completely unknown glyphs did nothing at all. She was avoiding this in particular so far.

"Ok," Sam licks her lips nervously. "Here goes nothing."

_Well,__it__'__s__ definitely__ something_, she thinks when one of the walls simply disappears revealing either a huge niche or a small room with unknown device on the pedestal in the middle of it. There is also a ring platform near the farthest wall.

Triumphant smile curves her lips, "_Now_ we going somewhere."

Ignoring the device – sorry, General O'Neill, not _this_ time – she heads right toward the platform.

* * *

><p>"Ok, I got it!" Daniel exclaims flourishing victoriously with the sphere currently bearing two signs.<p>

Teal'c braces himself awaiting incoming transportation, weapon charged and ready - who knows what about to appear - but nothing happens.

"Daniel Jackson, I believe…"

The sphere flies up from Daniel's palm to the ceiling, hovers there for a few moments and starts spin rapidly casting white and blue flashes until it's just a blur giving them severe headaches and impossible to look at.

The air begins crack with electricity charges, it doesn't take long until they hit the tech on the desks. Zat' is the first one to go off.

Teal'c drops his staff and he and Daniel duck under the closest tables because there is no chance they could make to the exit now.

"So _not __good_'". Jackson mutters eyeing wrecking havoc above.

"Indeed."

* * *

><p>Just a few steps separate her from the platform when things start to go south.<p>

The device activates by itself emitting low ominous rumble and electricity cracking feels the room. The air suddenly becomes viscous; every move is a straggle as if she is a wasp stuck in the syrup and when Sam tries to breath in it's a terrible mistake – clearly, it's not the _air_ that surrounds her now, not the right kind of it, anyway.

An average person can make it from 40 to 50 seconds holding a breath, but she already out of oxygen. Her vision becomes black-stained and lungs burn – the signs of suffocation - when sudden incredibly bright outburst of light appears near the device. If anything, it looks like oversized globe lightning.

Samantha watches helplessly as it flows towards her, readying to the imminent death.

The moment globe consumes her, however, she is breathing again and the feeling of atmosphere is back to normal. She probably can move now, too, Sam thinks, until without having any previous intention and without a clue as to _why_ she runs towards the damnable device. There Sam watches in astonishment her own hand hitting the crystal on top of the item and then something that looks very much like control panel slides out of pedestal.

She hears her mouth emitting what could only be curses in a language she does not know, while her fingers flutter about the console flashing with disturbing amount of red symbols.

_**Too **__**late,**_ the thought is loud an clear, and not _hers_. _**The **__**damage **__**is **__**already **__**done.**_

Sam – or rather her body - hits the panel, sending it back where it originally was and runs towards the transporter. When the rings already have being activated soundless blast wave - at least that what she thinks it is - hits pretty hard knocking her down and leaving ball-curling in excruciating pain.

So, when Colonel Carter finds herself being transported she has no opportunity to estimate where as her head takes almost immediate blow that sends Sam into dark oblivion, she almost feels a relief.

* * *

><p><span>Goa'uld technology<span>

*TEF - Transphase Eradication Rod – the device capable of bringing cloaked entity into visible field for humans; as a weapon it can fire blasts or stun beam.


	4. Smoke and mirrors, part 1

**Smoke and mirrors, part 1**

_Sweet dreams are made of this  
>Who am I to disagree?<br>Travel the world and the seven seas  
>Everybody's looking for something<em>

(Eurythmics, _Sweet Dreams_)

"What are we to do now, Dr. Jackson?" Teal'c vocalizes his desire for action as Daniel examines dolefully ruins of what used to be a lab.

The electric storm destroyed everything, the equipment turned into fritted burned indescribable peaces of junk. Jaffa staff seems to be the only item avoided the doom. When the archaeologist looks up the ceiling, he sees a huge burn mark obviously left by the sphere when it finely exploded.

Something cracks under Teal'c's boots as he shifts. Daniel casts a glance downwards to discover blue and white crystals sparking merrily on the floor – everything that's left from the device.

"Looks like we have to start looking for Sam the old fashioned way," he sighs and lifts his eyes to be met with a determined expression on Jaffa face.

"We will find her," Teal'c states firmly and they leave the ill-fated chamber and venture into the tangle of passages.

* * *

><p>A voice calls to her through the blissful darkness.<p>

"Carter, how you feeling?"

Sam opens her eyes slowly and blinks in confusion - the first thing she sees is Brigadier General Jack O'Neill standing in front of her, hands crossed over his chest.

She also finds herself lying on the bed in the SGC infirmary. And when she tries to sit up, this turns out to be a very bad idea indeed – the feeling of dizziness and nausea is almost overwhelming.

"Hey," he says softly, "take it easy. You have a minor concussion. I've been told it's nothing really bad; still, you should be resting."

"What happened?" she manages hoarsely, her throat dry and sore.

"You don't remember?" He cocks his head and there is something unsettlingly wrong with this gesture, it seems… strange. "Must have taken pretty hard hit that clever head of yours."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

From how the said head pounding, sharp pain concentrated near her right temple, she is very much inclined to believe it did take a blow. However, Sam has not a clue _how_ did it happened.

"What _do_ you remember?" He takes a chair and places himself on it with unexpected grace.

Not that Sam ever thought him being clumsy, yet never had he stricken her as a _graceful _type either. Jack was always… well, Jack.

"We went to KS7-535 where the intel suggested Anubis' secret lab was. SG-3 stayed guarding the Gate, we did the recon," she licks her lips. "Can I have some water?"

"But of course."

He rises in the same boneless cat-like manner, pours some water into a small plastic cup and brings it to her lips, his other hand supporting her head from the pillow with care.

Sam blushes, she simply cannot help it.

For years Samantha Carter tried really hard to ignore and then to overcome her crush on Jack O'Neill, convincing herself how very much inappropriate such feelings towards her commanding officer and a teammate were. She told herself hundreds of times their relationship wouldn't have a future - have they decided to pursue it - with all the regulations standing in the way, even if Jack was interested. The truce is, she's started to think, he never actually was_ interested;_ not so much, anyway.

After meeting that mysterious entity on the alien ship who almost drove her nuts first and then pretty much made her thinking of some stuff she was thoroughly avoiding, Sam started questioning was even _she_ ever really having romantic feelings for Jack, or was it just her way of running off an opportunity to actually have those. And wasn't she, in fact, just hiding behind her hopeless 'love'? That's how Pete came into the picture.

But having Jack so close now, his touch so thoughtful, gentle even, like never before, and how he smiles at her… God knows, O'Neill doesn't do much smiling. It's feels like whatever she had been dreaming of came true. Surely, that must count for something.

_**This is not happening, **_a strange voice in her heard suddenly says.

Samantha blinks, almost choking on water. "What did you say?"

He takes a cup away from her lips and returns to the chair.

"Apart from how eager I'm to hear about your findings? Nothing of importance. Do tell me, Colonel, what mysteries you have discovered."

Something isn't right, but her head is so dizzy… she just can't wrap her mind around it. Then she remembers.

"Daniel, Teal'c, SG-3 guys - are they Ok?"

"Fine," he waves her concern off. "You're the only one currently in need of medical care."

"Why aren't they here?" She scarcely believes her friends wouldn't come to check on her.

"Because they been there earlier and were sent off with a promise of coming back later, as I wanted you all for myself for some time?" He lifts an eyebrow. "Also, I would love to hear your insight on the latest developments. You do realize, you're the only one of the merry band who can give a decent report, right?"

_**Samantha. Listen to me.**_

Ignoring it becomes harder but she does her utmost; hearing strange voices in your head is _bad_. Sam concentrates on Jack complimenting her and didn't he just say he wanted to be with her, alone?

"Well, sir, as you already probably know from the debriefing, after we activated the device procured from Jaffa formerly loyal to Anubis the ring-transporter brought us to the cave…"

"Oh, no, I don't need a full report right now; we can't have you overstrained, can we? So, skip all the insignificant parts and just tell me what you have found of interest. Details can wait."

He smiles at her again and she gives him a faint smile on her own; he does care for her, after all.

_**This is not real. Snap out of it.**_

_Oh, shut up,_she snaps, her nerves finely failing her.

"Yes, sir. There was that lab…" her memories are vague and blurry, flashes she can't make into the whole picture, "with pieces of some equipment - a Goa'uld rubbish Teal'c said - but there was that strange device, too."

"What device?" He stands and learns closer.

_**No. Wake. Up. Now!**_

The reality shifts and shatters around her. When she comes back to her senses, there is no SGC infirmary - she lies on the inclined cold stone slab. Her wrists and ankles restricted, the head –ache almost killing her.

The man that stands in front of her is no Jack O'Neill either.

Sam has never seen him before, yet the recognition comes immediately due to a very thorough report Daniel wrote about the certain System Lords Summit as much as from a few scarce curses in which Jack O'Neil described his unfortunate Tok'ra experience.

He is tall but not overly so and his luxurious garment – a medieval styled charcoal leather and silk suit under the long velvet-looking black cloak with golden embroidery - compliments his features. His shortly cut hair looks black in the dim light of torches hanging on the sell walls, his left hand's clad with a gold ribbon-devise.

Not a man, a Goa'uld.

He cocks his head left, dark brown eyes sparking impatiently.

"What device, Colonel?" He repeats.

"Drop the act Baal," she croaks, too infuriated to be scared at the moment. "Your little game is over."

His eyebrows almost hit the hairline for a moment but that passes immediately.

"Well now", he chuckles, "_that _is definitely interesting."

* * *

><p>Samantha's outraged. That evil conniving bastard used her memories; no, worse, her <em>feelings <em>she was reluctant to admit still existed, to pry the information out of her.

_**Insidiousness is what he does the best**_, the same strange voice in her head says.

_Well, screw him_, Sam responds hotly.

_**Just don't give him that kind of idea, **_ there is a certain note of amusement in it now.

_Why I even talking to myself…_ she sighs, mentally.

_**Well, you not. You're talking to me. And I suggest, quit doing it for some time and start paying attention to our… host. Concentrate on getting us out of here, furthermore unharmed, preferable.**_

_But…_

_**Samantha.**_

Great, now _it_ sounds just like her dad when he was about to lecture her on something; before Jacob become blended with Selmak, that's it. The old Tok'ra appeared to be a surprisingly good influence.

The annoying voice is right on one thing, thought; she _must_ get out of here, but has not even a slightest idea of as to _how_. OK, one step at a time, them.

Sam returns her attention to the System Lord.

"So tell me," he says pacing slowly near the slab and scrutinizing her, "how did you manage to overcome a memory recall device, Colonel Carter?"

"I've heard it only works on weak minds," she grumbles, bur of course he does not appreciate the _Star Wars_ reference.

"Well, at least some part of it must be true - it was working on yours just fine quite for some time," he drops casually. "So, what's changed? Answer as your God asks."

"Why don't you figure this out for yourself, being a _God_ and all that?"

"Tau'ri insolence can compete only with Tau'ri stupidity, indeed," the amusement gone, his tone is harsh and intimidating. "Do you think this is wise to demonstrate your shortcomings now, being completely at my will?"

_**Stop provoking him foolishly.**_

_Like he intends to let me go either way,_Sam talks back_._

_**Make him.**_

Carter blinks and screws her face as another jolt of pain strikes at her temple - the frigging machine is still working, apparently.

He must be notices it because his right hand moves and warm fingers touch her temple for a moment and the constant buzz she didn't even realize she was hearing all that time becomes stronger.

He frowns at her, eyes narrowed. "Ah, I see." He takes then his hand away and shows her a small metal disk, long sleek fingers holding it right before her nose.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow. "I believe your limited abilities to think must come back now, so step aside and let a Ha'ttaka* speak for itself."

"I don't…"

"The Tok'ra." He literally spats the word. "Spare me denial."

"What?" Sam exclaims in agitation. "This is complete bullshit!"

Her mind, however, starts racing.

_No, no, no, this is impossible. It can't be true. Please, dear God, not again._

_**Well, if this of any consolation right now, I am not a symbiote of any kind.**_

_Thank you. _

It is laughable, really - considering the situation - but she _is_ relieved.

_**Why, you're welcome.**_

The System Lord gives her a withering glare, like it something loathsome that he sees.

"Meaningless lies. The naquadah in your blood betrays you."

She shots him an angry look.

"That's because I _was_ a host - for the very short time, thank God - and it was _years _ ago."

He looks thoughtful.

"You don't expect me to take your word for it, do you now? I have the means to know for sure. Although, it is consistent with…"

"I carry no _parasite _ in me!" Sam almost screams at him.

_**And here I though you were doing better.**_

Carter watches in stunned horror as the incandescence feels the Goa'uld eyes. His face becomes a deadly mask of outrage. He stalks towards her purposefully. Up close, his hand shots and a very heavy backhand lands across her mouth.

She chokes and feels the blood starting oozing from her cracked lips.

He wipes his blooded fingers with her BDU jacket, screwing his attractive face in disgust and crosses his hands over the chest.

_**You're lucky he didn't use his left hand. Still, if you want to live this through, think before you speak.**_

The heavy silence hangs in the air. Sam tries really hard not to say something that will more then likely get her killed, so she settles for not talking at all. Ba'al, on his end, probably works on controlling his temper back, presumably having the same – not murdering her yet - goal in mind.

What a wrenched idyll this is.

"Does it hurt?" He finely utters staring at her already swollen lips.

"I'll live," she responds flatly.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the System Lord smiles coldly. "A lesser creature, such as you are, should learn to choose words very carefully or be ready meat the consequences. Now, you will tell me everything I want to know."

His eyes flash again when he adds with sarcasm, "In _details_."

"I'll die first," Sam states with courage she doesn't actually feel.

"That can be easily arranged," he grins. "You _will_ die. And then again, again and again; until you'd become _extremely_ cooperative."

Carter swallows hard remembering Jack's report, but it looks like something else entirely crosses his mind and he draws slowly, "Tell me, Colonel, did you enjoy your blending experience?"

She shudders, unable keep her reaction hidden from him.

"Yes, that's it," he continues with a particularly nasty smile. "I believe I like this solution even better. Not only will you tell me everything I want to know, you will _do_ anything I'm to desire of you, being my spy within Tau'ri ranks included. And so much _more_."

He turns on his heels and heads toward the exit.

_**That will not do. I truly apologize, Samantha.**_

_For being so crappy help?_ Sam thinks bitterly.

_**No, for this.**_

* * *

><p><span>Goa'uld language<span>

*Ha'ttaka – (here) poisoner of minds; an insult.


	5. Smoke and mirrors, part 2

**Smoke and mirrors, part 2**

_Luck and intuition play the cards _

_With Spades to start_

_And after he's been hooked _

_I'll play the one that's on his heart_

**(****Lady Ga-ga**, _Poker face_**)**

If she is to describe it, Carter would say that it feels like being gently pushed aside. She still hears and feels everything, her mind is working, but her body doesn't belong to her any more.

As her mouth opens, Sam hears her own voice but the words are not _hers_.

"You're making a mistake, Ba'al."

He stops but turns to face her not.

"Fabulous, I was going to say exactly the same thing, but what would be the point? Tau'ri never learn anything, obviously. You have made your choice, now you are about to meet the consequences."

"Was that the same choice Anubis imposed on you, making relinquish everything achieved and rolled over before him?"

Sam knows that never in her life she would manage for such a derisive defiance with tone so chill.

The System Lord spans, the loose-fitting cloak slaps his legs angrily.

"Clearly, I hit you harder than I have though. Anubis is _no more _and you are _delusional_."

_What happened with not provoking him? _Sam demands.

_**Foolishly, has been said. I know precisely what I am doing.**_

_It's easy for you to say; he intends to put a snake in my head!_

_**That would make it too crowded here, wouldn't you agree? **_

"Is that why you are his _underling_ now, eager to serve the Great System Lord?" Sam hears herself continuing as if his anger was nothing worth paying attention to.

"I am the Lord!" He raises his voice almost to the point of shouting and an alien multi-tonal flange makes it something she doesn't want to here again. Ever.

"As long as he allows to maintain the façade? Clearly I have mistaken you Ba'al, thinking that never would someone your caliber go for this; how very much foolish of me."

He stalks back towards her, metal-clad hand grips Sam's chin and lifts it, harsh enough to be uncomfortable but not actually hurting yet. Ba'al stares in her eyes and she notices faint golden rings inside his brown irises.

"Anubis is dead," he utters in a low voice. "Tau'ri mysterious wonder-weapon finished him, remember?"

_Umm… that's not entirely true, though Anubis _is_ out of picture. You just pulling his leg, right? _

_**Sadly, no. He's back. Now, be silent, please. I'm working towards our freedom and then some.**_

_What? How?_

_**Everyone wants something. As it happens, I know quite well what Ba'al does. **_

"We both know this is not how things are," her tone changes towards soft, sympathetic one even. "The question is, are you going to do something about that, _Lord _ Ba'al?"

He leans closer, "What do you _propose_?"

Sam's swollen lips form into a confident smile, "An alliance against the common enemy."

"With Tau'ri?" He snorts. "Such fidelity is beneath a God. Besides, your kind's ability in subterfuge and subtle actions is extremely poor, and that would be vital for such an affair."

"Your _kind_ has dealt with Tau'ri before," she reminds him. "_Besides_, lets face it - you're in no position to be over-picky. The other System Lords seek alliance with the Earth against your upstart self, as I am sure you already know. So, it basically leaves you in the isolation and alone in your… _relationship_ with Anubis. It's either that, or, you can have me."

He laughs – a low vibrating sound that stirs the air.

"Be careful what you offer, I might just take you up on that."

Sam's eyebrow rises in a completely uncharacteristic gesture, "Do you _really_ want to use thisline? Who do you think I am?"

"Well," he bends his head so his face hovers over hers, "why wouldn't you tell me that, dropping this entire Colonel Carter act? One cannot deceive a God, you know. So, if we are to be _involved_, I would rather very much to know with whom and to what end."

_Involved. Now, this is just disturbing._

**_Amusing, actually. _ **

"I assure you, US Air Force Colonel Samantha Carter is very much present here," Sam vocalizes in a perfect official bureaucratic manner that would probably get off any IOA member, "just like your host – what's his name again? – is."

"We are Ba'al," he flanges and his eyes glow slightly.

"Well, _we are_ a little more complicated then that, then. You already know Samantha of SG-1, _I am_ Aeris."

_Very nice to meet you, I guess?_

_**Likewise. **_

"And who would you be, _Aeris _- if not the Tok'ra - clearly not another Tau'ri?"

"As surprisingly as it may come to you, there are other species in this Galaxy apart from the Eathlings and the Goa'uld, who - as it happens - may hold a grudge against presumptuous godling that has been allowed to go too far."

He studies Sam's face and then greens like a cat that got a cream.

"Ah, there-there. I do know one very exhortative story about an arrogant Tar* brunch had thought they had grown above their Cods. But look how it ended - they entirely ceased to be. What was their name, again?" He pretends to be remembering. "Oh, yes, Tolans. What a waste."

Blue eyes give him a hard stare and he feels pleased with this reaction – his educated guess hit the mark then. So, this… whatever it is that exists in the Tau'ri female now, is seeking vengeance. That he understands perfectly, with that he can work.

Ba'al flashes a lazy smile at the body stretched before him.

"I just can't help but wonder how would one of the extinguished race have turned out blended with a Tau'ri female?"

Of that he really curious; were the Tolans _that_ advanced before Tanis with the power granted by Anubis crashed them down? Their latter homeworld is worth looking into, if that is the case.

"A minor malfunctioning during the unconventional procedure has occurred," Carter's voice sounds dry and irritated; that he understands too.

Experimenting could be tricky. Sometimes things tent to blow up right into your face one way or another.

"I would love to hold this conversation longer as it is", the Tau'ri female continues conversationally, "but _Samantha _ does need medical attention and restrains do nothing to improve the situation. Would you care to remove them?"

He hums thoughtfully, than smiles crookedly.

"I could still proceed with the original idea and give you a symbiote," his metal-clad fingers are stroking her cheek and Sam's astonished to discover how startlingly light and almost gentle he manages this touch to be. "There is a possibility there, wouldn't you agree?"

"You're welcome to try," she hears her own low chuckle. "Loosing one symbiote won't ruin you, surely - just don't pick a dear one. It might be interesting for you to witness how Tolans got rid of their _Cods _in a first place. "

"So very tempting, as I have no such a ridiculous thing as a _dear one_," Ba'al says releasing Sam's face and pressing controls on the panel near the slab. "Your discovery, however, is very much lagged. We have encountered such evolutional flaws before."

With a soft _clank_ restricts are unlocked.

_Don't hurry to stand_, Samantha cautions, but Aeris is clearly in no need for such an advice.

Sam sees as her hands rub wrists thoroughly until her blood-circling is back to normal, then the same procedure has been repeated to her ankles. The System Lord sniffs.

"A symbiote would make it completely unnecessary," he observes conversationally.

"Thank you. Such a concern is very touching and duly noted, but, _no_ thank you. Would you happen to have a healing device, though?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Somewhere, yes. I wouldn't know precisely its whereabouts, though. See, never needed it myself. Would you like to try my sarcophagus instead?"

_God, no!_

_**He is not serious, can't you tell?**_

"Very generous of you, again, but I am in no habit of sharing a bed-pod with someone I just met."

He chuckles, amused, while Aeris rises from the cold stone adjusting Sam's clothing neatly.

The door-panel slides open and Jaffa bearing Ba'al marking on his forehead ventures in.

"My Lord," he bows ignoring an unrestricted Tau'ri female completely, "your order was not to be disturbed, but this seemed urgent."

"What is it?" his master drops in a perfunctory manner.

"You have a … visitor."

Ba'al snaps his fingers in irritation, "Who is this? Must I compel every word from you, Jaffa?"

"Lord Nerus."

"Nerus is no _Lord_ but a servant of mine. What does he want?"

"He wishes to speak with my God, immediately. He has being escorted by two Jackal guards."

_**Anubis' troops. **_

_What? We are so doomed._

Ba'al waves him out, "I will see to it in a minute."

"Nerus must not know," Aeris uses Sam's vocal cords sounding very much anxious the moment door's closed.

"I would never think of it myself," Ba'al shots back dryly.

He hesitates but mere seconds before in one graceful movement his cloak's shrugged off and thrown at Sam, "Put it on."

Carter watches in fascination as her body has being enclosed in precise certain _practiced_ moves. Looks like Aeris knows very well indeed what goes where whereas Sam would already be tangled in numerous clasps and straps that hold it all together. It definitely didn't look that complex on Ba'al.

She also discovers that the clothing bears a faint smell of its owner - some spicy freshness with a note of bitterness which reminds her of some highly overpriced cologne; very manly, too.

The coat-cloak is long enough to cover her figure completely; even Ba'al had it ankle-lengthened. Put on Sam, it practically sweeps the combat boot toes. So, when the cowl is pulled down, there is nothing of her remains to be seen.

The Goa'uld nods, satisfied, "That should suffice. Now, fallow me."

* * *

><p>As they move side by side heading off the prison block with the escort of four Jaffa he tells her in a hushed tone:<p>

"There will be a turn to the right from the main passage not long before the audience chamber entrance. It leads to the transportation platform. Take this," Ba'al shoves her a golden ring with his insignia he has put off of his finger, "show it to the guards and they will suffer you to pass without asking any questions. Keep your face hidden."

"Some of your Jaffa have already seen Colonel Carter," Aeris says in a neutral tone.

"I will take care of that, naturally," he snaps.

_He'll simply kill them! I don't want to be the one responsible for that,_ Sam stirs.

"Will you be able to do so without taking their lives away? We would really appreciate that."

"Regardless of how _very toughing_, and might I even say _duly noted_, your concern for my troops is, how dare you doubt me?"

Aeris – well, Aeris and Sam both in that case - could have said that being ushered off his Ha'tak in an underhand way like a mistress of an unfaithful husband almost caught by his jealous wife serves very poorly to inflict much confidence in his abilities to control his underlings. Then again, one cannot be too careful.

"It is settled then," Aeris simply states.

As they reach a furcation, Ba'al catches Sam's wrist making her stop. He shoves her into a sideway passage so they couldn't be seen from the main one and bends his head, uttering in a low dangerous tone.

"Know this, if you are to betray me, there wouldn't be a place in this Galaxy or next for you to hide. I _will_ find you, and believe me when I say, your death is to be extremely painful and _slow_ one. And then I will find a way to destroy the Tau'ri pathetic homeworld, whatever the cost. Do not doubt _that_."

_Naturally,_' is all that comes nonchalantly from under the hood hiding Tau'ri's face, making impossible to read an outward reaction his threat has inflicted.

"Keep the ring, it is also a transmitter. I will contact you later."

"Understood."

With that, in one smooth flick circular motion she frees her wrist from his tight, inhumanly strong grip and starts moving away without so much as a glance back.

"Wait," Ba'al calls as a curiosity gets the better of him.

She stops without turning back, "Yes?"

"Are _you_ a male or female?"

Samantha Carter's voice's undisguised amused, "Why does it matter to _you_, I would never know, yet you can have your answer - _qui pro quo_."

"What is this that you wish to know?"

"Tell me how you knew I wasn't Samantha."

"Acceptable, but you shall tell first."

Sam thinks that if anything, their dialog and the whole communication so far for that matter remind her a sophisticated swordplay - they lunge and dodge and search for flaws in other's tactics and for the openings.

"Female."

_Thank God for the small blessings. _

_**I yet to meet an entity with a rightful claim for this title; a lot of willing, however. **_

"That is what I thought," Ba'al sounds pleased. To Sam's sheer surprise he holds his end of the bargain. "You have had – among other things, but that was what gave you away first – my name spelled correctly. Tau'ri rarely do that. Colonel Carter in particular had it all wrong."

"Exactly what I though," her voice is satisfied, too. "Now I must leave. Do give my best regards to Anubis."

"If only words could kill."

"Well, we shall see for _that_, hopefully."

"Indeed we shall."

Letting him have the last word she hurries down the corridor, obviously intend to reach a transporter as quickly as it possible. The System Lord stands there just a few more moments, lips curved in a pensive smile.

He is yet to decide what to do with this unexpected acquisition, but whatever it is to be, he'll benefit of it. For this is what he does the best – he turns to his advantage _every_ opportunity that presents itself.

* * *

><p>After all that Sam has endured in last six hours – her wrist watch <em>and<em> Aeris state for this to be correct – she is not surprised at all when the rings have her transported to the same well-known spot on the planet surface where this whole bizarre venture began.

At least she is almost her old self again, with Aeris' retreated somewhere inside her head giving up controlling her body, and Ba'al's coat left lying on the floor near the Ha'tak ring platform. _His _ ring, however, is secluded in one of her inner pockets.

Of what Samantha truly is surprised, that is to find Daniel and Teal'c within the easy reach too, being pressed under the heavy fire by a large group of hostile Jaffa and – surprise, surprise - most of them belong to Ba'al, if theirs markings are of any indication.

"Sam!" Daniel exclaims, placing yet one more well aimed shot. "Where have you been?"

"Colonel Carter," Teal'c nods in satisfied acknowledgement as his stave erupts series of blasts, "it is good to see that you are well."

"What did I miss?" Sam ducks behind the stone and her P-90 joins the fan.

"Oh, the usual stuff. At first we were wandering the underground labyrinth trying to find you _and_ an exit - first failed, second achieved – and then these guys suddenly hit the party, although I don't remember sending any invitations," Daniel clarifies and Teal'c confirms it with a firm 'indeed'.

Sam wants to laugh. Jaffa have them surrounded and crossfired? What a small matter it is now, when they are all together again. They _will_ make it, they shall return to the SGC and she is going to tell them and Jack everything that has happened to her.

_**I would strongly advise against this particular course of action. Not only would you jeopardize your own future, but this will also destroy a unique opportunity to get this Galaxy rid of Anubis for good. You might regret it greatly in the very near future. **_

_Not now, _Sam dismisses the matter, concentrating on returning the fire and being not shot. _I'm trying to keep us alive here. _

_**You are a female, surely you can do more that just one thing at the time, **_Aeris notes. _**Now,**_ _**I could step forward and do whatever the best un until the end, but I would rather not to. I do not wish to enforce a decision on you. Just give me a chance to explain myself and then the choice is yours to make.**_

_You're not Tolan, aren't you?_ Carter tells her as she places together whatever information she has on Narim's people. Aeris simply doesn't fit the picture. _You lied to Ba'al. Would you lie to me? _

_**I did no such thing, **_the entity's tone is transparent with indignation.

_**I merely let him make his own conclusions, and when he did, I had not argued the result. You have to forgive me for not feeling bad for that, I guess, as**_ _**the fate of the Galaxy is what's at stake here and I do not trust any Goa'uld with the knowledge of my origin, you already are in possession.**_

_Am I?_

_**Samantha. You are intelligent enough to make the right connections. Is truth so hard to accept?**_

Sam remembers her lungs out of oxygen, the deafening buzz in her ears and ultimate darkness impending, closing on her, until the large lightening-sphere hit her and had enveloped.

She has seen such things before, Carter realizes with a startle. The first time was during the Kheb mission, the second one… it was when Daniel had died out of a radiation poisoning. Well, when he had _Ascended_.

_Oh, God._

_**Someone definitely has been around the Goa'uld too much. Aeris shall suffice. **_

"Colonel Carter," Teal'c calls to her, "we have being contacted by SG-3. They are here, holding their position near the Chapa'ai* and under attack as well. I believe we should try and fall back to them."

That snaps her out of the stupor. She is the commanding officer, goddamnit, her first priority is to make sure her people will get home safely. The rest can wait. All in all, the _Ascended_ did save her life, twice. Listening is the least she can do in return.

* * *

><p>It's only being back at the SGC, safe and sound, when General O'Neill asks '<em>Did Anubis have left anything cool behind'<em> Samantha realizes how skillfully she was manipulated. It would be extremely difficult for her now, when Daniel has replied '_Not really, no'_ and she has said nothing otherwise, out of the blue to change her mind and tell an entirely different story. Not impossible, granted, still, very much problematic and not without repercussions.

She should have seen this coming having witnessed first-handed how nattily Aeris dealt with the System Lord, getting from him everything she apparently wanted.

_You are the most unlikely Ancient I ever saw, _Garter grudges heading towards the locker room_._

Everything she can think of right now is a shower, a set of clean closes and a bed in her own house.

Well, that, and not dealing with someone way out of her league.

_**Being called an Ancient is hardly a compliment for a female, Samantha, wouldn't you agree? I also curious how many you saw of my kin to judge what is common and what isn't for us. **_

Aeris sounds not disturbed in a slightest by Sam's irritation.

_Not all that many, but some, yes. Aren't you all supposed to be nice, enlightened and what not?_

_**Some, yes. We are also supposed not to be caring much what happens to flesh-living, those who seeks Ascension aside. Or, at least, not to act out of such a propensity. **_

_And you do, care?_

_**Why, I am here now, am I not?**_

_Yes you are, in my head particularly. That is so owes an explanation._

_**That it does, Samantha. That it does.**_

* * *

><p><span>Goa'uld language<span>

*Tar – Goa'uld slang for Tau'ri

*Chapa'ai - Stargate


	6. A peace to break

**5. A peace to break**

_No explanation will matter _

_after we begin_

_Unlock the dark destroyer _

_that's buried within,_

_My true vocation. _

(**Disturbed**, _Indestructible_)

Their weekly meeting starts as the last Council member takes his rightful place. It has a lot of white, this moderate sized chamber, as it is a color very much favoured here along with a plain, elegant in its simplicity clothing style. Standing out against such a background her very dark-bronze garment that looks like some exotic mixture of civilian clothing and battlegear - which it actually is - earns her few habitual slight frowns.

She does not care. Never did.

He apologizes for being late – he's always late because he finds being to his lab far more amusing than attending these overly frequent, agonizingly tedious meetings – and flops down his chair next to her casting a sidelong glance.

She responds with an eyebrow-lift and a hint of a smile.

Things then run their normal course. They discuss certain improvements to Atlantis' infrastructure that are long overdue and argue half-heartedly recourses they could spare to build another distant outpost. Ah, and yes, Janus has had left a half of the city cut off of power for twenty minutes straight due to another one of his trials.

"Sorry," he says once more, but the look in his eyes betrays quite the opposite. "It won't happen again."

She bites her lower lip hiding a smile; well, it might be that precisely _this_ – won't. Perhaps next time it's going to be quite a few hours or even a mean solar day. It is also possible that something else entirely would come up. A constant troublemaker he is in the eyes of more conservative majority. He can make her smile despite low spirits, too.

Her left hand bearing tiny straps of Janus' resent invention – she doesn't have a name for it yet – is lying on the marble table-lid, fully clad with metal fingers drum slowly producing dull sounds: _click, click, click._

"Commander," the High Counselor calls and her peculiar eyes imprinted with reflection of Eternal Flames fix upon him with a piercing unsettling look.

As she does not trouble herself with hiding her heritage and forcing them into their disguised state of nice, but quite _ordinary_ chestnut color, he knows immediately her mood is very far from good. Moros sighs, suddenly feeling old and tiered.

"We would like to hear your assessment on the latest unfortunate events," he continues steadily, nevertheless.

"To put it shortly, we are at war we are about starting to lose," she says in a flat voice and an anxious murmur fills the chamber as the other Council members start taking all at once.

A little irritated _'silence, please'_ from Moros is all it takes to calm them down, though.

"Surely it's quite a bit of overstatement," Council Melia voices what presumably is the majority's opinion as the order's restored.

"Unfortunately no, it isn't; an understatement, although, it well might have been," the Commander replies in the same toneless manner and then her naquadah clad fingers move. A map appears hanging at the empty middle-section between the tables arranged in a circle.

Each one currently accounted in this room knows that what the device she wears allows to do – among other things - is to have a subspace access to the control console at the commanding center. Still, it does look impressive - a bit of magic, people of the younger race could call it.

The map's covered with numerous blue dots representing their whereabouts in this Galaxy - they all have seen it before, countless times. They have _planed_ for these dots to exist, worked for it actually. What wasn't aimed for, however, is a presence of a few angry red spots dispersed at the edges of their domain.

Her fingers move again, the map's changed showing more red dots. And then it switches once more, only now the outstanding blood-colored splashes have scattered deeply within the controlled territory.

"What does it tell you?" she inquires calmly.

"That registered Wraith presence has definitely grown?" Council Melia arches an eyebrow. "What of it? The longer we observe the more results we get, obviously."

None of the Councilors offers anything otherwise.

She closes her eyes briefly biting a caustic remark as it would serve to nothing - apparently they do not see, yet. But then again, this is _her_ job to make them comprehend.

"It means," Janus says suddenly in a low worried voice, "that the Wraith think they have grown strong enough to stop hiding."

"I don't see how…" Melia starts but he interrupts her sharply.

"Well, obviously _you_ don't. Come, think about it, though. At first, these were just some vague rumors about scary monsters hiding in the shadows; people started missing here and there without any reasonable explanation but always somewhere on the border. Well, that wasn't all that outstanding, so we basically just dismissed it despite Commander here has insisted this was to be investigated. Then, within mere _years,_ we suddenly have a hostile race advanced enough to build space ships. It simply doesn't add! This goes against the progress as we know it."

"It might be they obtained some of our own technology," Moros looks thoughtful. "That is known to happen before, unfortunately."

"I am quite sure they have, they did - the general idea, some stolen equipment, parts of it, or else, but that's not the point. They actually had to have _understood_ it, don't' you see? Also, their vessels are of a very much original design, and it is more likely than not they run on somewhat different principals. From what I saw, they are rather organic than mechanical, which is incredible, really. So, how much time, do you think, such a level of advancement would require? It's obvious they are here Eternity knows for how long, been hiding from us. And now they don't. There could be only one explanation to that."

She lets him do all the talking for the moment knowing they would listen to him. He is the Atlantis' lead scientist after all, despite his devotion to risky and tricky experimentations earning him constant reproaches.

"Commander?" The High Counselor inquires of a confirmation.

"I wouldn't explain it better myself," she nods firmly. "We must act quickly."

"What do you propose?"

"Gather an intel about their disposition on short notice. Deplete a full-scale attack across the Galaxy targeting every enemy ship, every stronghold simultaneously. We must wipe them out at one stroke: all of them if possible, the Queens – unquestionably. From what we know about how their society works, without them the Wraith are pretty much doomed."

"Such an atrocity is impossible even to think of!" Counselor Talia, a very good-looking blond with ice-blue eyes, the Chief of Cultural Development Department exclaims. "You suggest we destroy Eternity only knows how much sentinel beings, a whole new race! That's not how we are, that's not _who_ we are."

"The younger race suffers substantial losses. Are their lives worth nothing? Besides, they were _promised_ we'll look after them. One should keep one's wows. Two of our research ships went missing along with almost a hundred crew members aboard; traces of a strange energy signature found at their last known whereabouts. Wraith's. Peaceful explorers, they never coursed any harm, yet it didn't save them. What more do you want? With all due respect, Counselor, this is war." Her tone remains calm and completely unaffected by the accusation. "The only question is, are we going to win, or to lose it."

"There will be war if we are to follow your strategics, _Commander_. There must be another way to deal with the situation, I am sure," an angry retort comes. "Every sentinel being can be reason with."

She arches an eyebrow, a haughty lopsided smile on her lips, "Well, we all have seen how remarkably well it worked in the past. Shall Alterans run again, I wonder?"

"Just because war is everything you know, it doesn't mean this is the right answer!"

"Sometimes, it is the _only_ answer."

"Stop that, both of you," Moros drops in an imperious tone. "The decision will be made trough the vote, as it always has been. Now, if anyone else has something to say, let it be brought on."

"A parley," Counselor Melia says, predictably having taken her closest friend's side. "Why don't we send a delegation to try and break truce or better yet, to make permanent peace on terms that would satisfy both parties?"

A hum of approval fills the chamber. She casts a glance towards Janus and he only shrugs helplessly.

"It won't hurt, I think" he mutters. "It might be, we will be able to find some common ground after all– them being highly intelligent and all that - especially if the Biological Department is to come up with the answer to the Wraith's little _nourishment_ _problem_."

"I must vocalize my strong recommendation against this particular course of action," she speaks with authority when the murmur of voices is next to none. "You were right on one thing, Talia, _I do know war_. That's why I quite am capable of recognizing one inevitable when I see it - make no mistake, everyone."

"You objection, High Commander Atorious is duly noted, " Moros sighs openly. "Now, is there anything else?"

The silence is his answer.

"Very well then, let's begin the vote."

* * *

><p>A tall, notoriously handsome blond man with bright green eyes in a suit very similar to her own, only the color is deep charcoal, waits for her just outside the meeting chamber and the moment she steps outside he casts her an inquiring look.<p>

She shakes her head and he lifts an eyebrow falling into steps by her side as she strides away.

"They didn't listen," she vocalizes rather an unnecessary explanation. "They do not _understand_."

"Just as we had predicted," he says in a low, pleasant voice.

"In that particular case I would rather us being wrong," she mutters, irritated.

"Indeed. What now?"

He sounds calm and unworried but she knows how deceptive the appearance is. Being far too good a strategist he cannot be blind to atrocities the Council's reluctance to see things for what they really are is going to bring in the future - that's why he is her right hand, her second in command.

"We are to try and negotiate. A delegation is to be send," she says with distaste.

He stops short and gives her an incredulous stare, "Pardon me?"

"A parley is going to take a place," she repeats flatly.

"They are intend to negotiate with the race whose mere _survival_ depends on forfeiting others species lives? Why, that's beyond… unwisely."

'Stupidity' is what he really means, she knows, as she feels just the same.

"I would love to see that," he continues, uttering a derisive chuckle.

"You will," she promises him firmly, not amused in a slightest. "See, the Council wants for some of us escorting the envoy."

"Well, there is hope for them yet, one might believe," he expresses a fake surprise.

"Hope, Deimos, is a tricky bitch," she gives him a hard stare. "It may sustain you in a time of desperation, true, but it also makes you miss things that shouldn't be overlooked."

He bows slightly, acknowledging the thought, "What are your orders?"

"Well, I am _suggested_ not to come," she shrugs. "Apparently, honesty in politics still has its faults."

His eyes flash angrily but he says nothing, knowing she would disapprove an open display of indignation brought by a reminder of her being agreed with the subdued position she as the military leader of Atlantis has to the Council. None of her kin particularly happy with that either, yet they leave all the political maneuvering and decision-making of how things are to her. She leads, they fallow faithfully, no questions asked. It's just how things always have been.

"So it would seem," he utters trough clenched teeth.

"Therefore, it falls on you for I do not know any other Ta'ori* suited better for this task. Take your ōnis* to parley. Watch, learn, assist if asked and do not interfere otherwise, unless you have no other choice. I want to know everything about our enemy, in smallest details: their technology, their language, how they interact with each other, what is of value and what is to fear – anything you will be able to learn."

"Shall I bring you a living example for studying?"

He does not seem very much concerned with the mission and that makes her frown; sometimes the legacy her kin share makes them overconfident, arrogant even.

But then again, it seems to be a very custom trait to Alterans family in tote.

"No," she states without hesitation, "I can put Phobus' team on it. Your mission is far more important one now, make no mistake. As much differences as we have with the Council, they yet our brethren and we are their sworn shield. If there is even a ghost chance this situation can be _talked_ through - fine, make it happened. If not… Lantea must not fall, _we_ must not fail."

His right fist darts across the chest and hits the place where his heart beats. Deimos' eyes flash, irises change their coloring - for one briefest moment they are two pools of ever-burning fire.

"All shall be as my Ta'ora* wills."

Her eyes blaze in response, lips curl into an affectionate smile.

"Good luck, brother."

* * *

><p>He's so engrossed in whatever he's doing that he doesn't even notice her coming right until she calls from the lab entrance, "So, what is that you wanted me to see, Janus?"<p>

He turns to her, his hair more tousled than usually, and beams a quick smile, "Are you still mad at me, o beloved one?"

She hitches a shoulder, "Where, I wonder, did that come from? I am most certainly not mad. Never was."

"So you having spoken if only a few words to me in those two days since the Council meeting and _Assumption_ departure, is a pure coincidence?"

"There is no such thing as a coincidence; as a scientist you should have known that better than anyone. I have been very busy person," she moves towards him with unnatural, animal-like grace that never failed making him awed before.

It doesn't now as well.

"So," he continues, watching her and looking completely enchanted, "you are not holding a grudge with me for not backing you up at the meeting."

"Were you not speaking your mind, truly?"

"Why, of course I was!"

"Well, then… how could I possibly be angry with you for telling what you thought was right? Honestly, one would think you know me better than that, o supposedly smart one," she lifts en eyebrow, her lips curl into that kind of smile of hers that could mean everything and nothing at all.

"I do possess some… ah, intimate _knowledge _ of you, o light of my life. Never claimed it to be exceptional, though."

"Hmm, keep boasting and your knowledge will stay limited with what you've learned already only."

She stops beside him glancing at the screen displaying a creature she's never seen before. If anything, it reminds her some snake-fish hybrid. She learns closer to take a better look.

"Such cruel words from so very beautiful and tempting a mouth," he bends over her, nuzzling at the hollow of her neck as his hands start caressing her forearms. Then he adds in a low, husky voice, "I miss you something awful, Aeris. Would you terribly mind if I would visit you tonight?"

"Do tell me it's not the only reason you called, Janus," she chuckles, "and then… we shall see."

"As my mistress commands I am to obey," he gives her a playful bow. "I was going through some old databases lately, if you remember."

"Of course I do. I also remember how very much excited you was with this research. What kind of data are we talking about?"

"A very old one, like Avalon-old," his tone changes completely - gone is the yearning lover and the one of the most brilliant minds she knows has taken his place. "I have been trying lately to go with their old time-travel project."

"That didn't work out well, if I am to recall correctly," she frowns. "They weren't able establish a stable connection, 'has something to do with the most basic Universal law 'whatever happened, happened', in short terms."

"Well," he grins, "_they _ certainly weren't _me_."

"You found a loophole," she says and that is not a question.

"Call it what you will, but in truth I just have gotten less ambitious than the ancestors and that is why I was able to discover that the _small_ changes can be managed indeed. Like, you cannot go to the past and prevent the Wraith from evolving in what they already are," he chuckles at her disappointed puff knowing exactly what would be the first thought considering the circumstances. "You, however, can prevent - for example - one specific important person untimely death."

"Because one life doesn't mean much in a grand scale of things even if it _does_," she muses.

"Just so. It's still need some serious calculation work, yet I am quite sure my theory is sound."

"Fancy as the idea is in general - and it is, I admit - I still believe that is not the reason I was summoned."

He gives her an amused look, "Not fancy enough for you to come, o exigent one?"

"Well, for ones, it's not a TTD* image on your screen now," she shrugs gracefully. "And I have vibes, there was more to it."

"Of course you do," he suddenly seems slightly uncomfortable. "Anyway, as you know, biology is not really my thing, yet _this _ has definitely gotten my attention."

His finger points towards the screen while another hand manipulates the console, zooming the picture in.

"It's vermigrade, obviously," she observes. "No branchiae could be seen, so terrestrial it is, I would assume. The real size… is just about the image. Hardly intelligent as a brain so small should not be able to develop into something worth mentioning, unless they tend to have a collective mind like some insects. Oh, and it appears to be genderless; a hermaphrodite, perhaps, or – again - like some insects and the Wraith these have Queens, sort of. What am I missing here?"

He laughs, "Well, apparently your knowledge of biology is superior to mine. I actually had known none of this stuff but then again, that was not what got me interested in the first place."

"Then what did?"

"The ancestors believed these species to be a key to defeating the Plague."

He regrets mentioning the Event almost immediately seeing her face screwing in pain for a briefest of moments. Without it, however, he cannot explain her all importance of his finding. So, necessary evil it is, then.

"How so?" her voice as she speaks is as calm and composed as ever. He silently admires her self-control and ventures into explanation eagerly - everything to take her mind off the shadows lurking in the past.

"There was a research facility on the Altera* back then, a bio-lab to be precise."

"Altera?" she lifts an eyebrow. "How amusingly."

He laughs, "You think what I think?"

"That someone had been pretty much homesick or a plain megalomaniac? Apparently so."

"I would bet on the latter. I mean we _did_ name a planet in a foreign Galaxy over the city-ship. Anyway, look here," he taps into the console and the image of Avalon Galaxy appears, one of the sectors flashing blue. "All the life conditions of this planet are – or were, at least - very much akin to Terra."

"I don't think we ever been there," she says absent-mindedly, "I can't remember visiting this sector."

"Aeris," he intones sternly, "_you've _ never been to Avalon. Genetic memories are not of your own, do not forget that."

"I rarely do," she replies dryly. "So what's with the facility?"

"By the time the Plague came, they had discovered a very interesting local life-form - a small predator with the most impressive resistance to the all kinds of bio influence. No infection, no virus could breach its immune system. More so, the creatures were resistant even to considerable amount of radiation. So, ancestors had tried to make a vaccine using the result of their research."

"Interesting story, but as we all know Alterans did not defeat the Plague, they ran from it here. The cure didn't work, I suppose."

"They just didn't have enough time," Janus sighs. "Somehow bio-hazard safeguards were breached. Within next two days they all were dead or ascended, according to the last data log. Either way, no one left to complete the work."

She tilts her head eyeing the creature on the screen thoughtfully.

"You do realize," she says slowly, "that it happened a _million years ago_, so there is no possible way of knowing what's become of it," she points her finger at the screen, "apart from going to Avalon."

"And considering the amount of power required for activating the Astria Porta to another Galaxy, the Council is going to be the most difficult," he chuckles. "I get it, I do. But, if as a result we would acquire something that allows us to deprive the Wraith of their most formidable advantage, I say it's worth a shot."

"Now you are talking," she smiles and raises her hand to stroke his cheek and he instantly tilts his head kissing it. "So, as for the matter of you visiting me tonight…"

"Ta'ora," the comlink of the hand-device comes to life and Janus rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically.

"Why have I ever though inventing something like this would be a good idea; remind me, please?"

She gives him a quick kiss into lips, parting almost immediately despite his obvious reluctance.

"So I could thank you for it properly?"

Then, touching the device she says in her usual detached manner, "Anteros, go ahead."

"A shuttle just dropped from the hyperspace. Its transmitter appears to be damaged and a signal was jammed, but we managed to understand that it's from _Assumption,_" the young voice is notably uneasy with worrisome. "Something bad happened, Ta'ora. I think you better come to the hangar."

"Already are."

She cuts the transmission off and activates a transport beam. Before she's gone in a flash of light Janus manages to grab her right wrist and teleports with her.

* * *

><p>She watches the shuttle landing, taking in burn marks on the hull, its damaged left thruster and almost destroyed subspace communication system antenna. Her jaw clenches, lips press in a hard angry line. Janus tries to stroke her hand comfortingly but she shrugs his touch off.<p>

The Medical team is already at the bay: snow-white closes, pale uneasy Lantean faces.

As the shuttle door opens, they all can see immediately how very few people on board, some of them wounded; all of them look like they have been trough a serious fight. Their closings bear the energy weapon scourge marks and blood. Their faces are shocked bewildered masks as if they still cannot fully comprehend what has happened.

She sees it all, processing the information momentary and drawing very disturbing conclusions, yet what she _does not_ see is what she really looks for. There isn't even single one dark battle suited figure to be noticed inside the cargo hold whereas it should have been _five _ of them. Her heart skips a bit, her right hand balls into the fist, nails digging deep into the palm.

The medical personnel rushes forward and starts to tent wounded, one of whom waves them off despite the abundant traces of blood on his long fair robe and a right arm hanging awkwardly he supports with his left one, and leaves the shuttle, heading straight towards where she stands.

She glares right into his pale blue eyes, the fire starts filling her irises, and he averts his gaze unable to endure it.

"_Assumption_?" she says in a very calm, clipped tone that sends shivers down Janus' spine.

Councilor Tarus – for this is he who stands before her, the Council chosen envoy in negotiations with the Wraith - shakes his head, still avoiding looking into her face.

"The rest of the crew?"

He swallows hard and repeats the gesture.

"Elaborate."

Janus touches her forearm and says in a very careful low voice, "He's wounded and obviously in shock, Aeris. Perhaps, it would be better…"

"Silence," she drops imperiously don't even turning her face to look at him and the scientists' hand falls off of her.

This is not his best friend he sees now, who has always supported him in all the things others wouldn't understand. This is not a lover that makes his head spin and his blood boil with desire. This is something else entirely, dangerous, unkind and _ancient - _ the ever-burning flames coming to life in a flesh. This is the part of her he usually prefers not to think of: her gift, her curse, her legacy.

He fears for her.

"Elaborate, Councilor", she repeats, her voice dropping lower, starting carrying a note of alien unnatural multi-tone. "_Now_."

As surprisingly as it comes, Janus observes, her intimidating harshness wakes something in the man, a sense of dignity perhaps, or duty. He prays to whatever force of the Universe benevolent, that she does it on purpose, fighting fire with fire, and not actually loosing it. The later would be… devastating.

"We thought… _I_ thought all was going so well; that we were actually to make a peace," Tarus starts, voice hoarse and quiet, "but it was a trap, Wraith scheming all along. Those of us who survived owe it to your men. The _Assumption's_ destroyed but did not fall into enemy hands only because of them, too."

He sways, she and Janus step forward catching him and supporting at both sides. The medics rush to them with a litter and put him down carefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I am so, so very sorry, Aeris. You were right. This is war."

"Yes, it is," she starts turning away but he catches her wrist.

"Wait," his voice is so quiet that she's forced to bend over him so she could hear. His good hand reaches into the robe pocket and procures a small metal sphere - data storage - and places it into her palm. "Deimos said, I must bring this to you no matter what."

She looks at the item, lips pressed together so hard they have lost their color.

"Thank you for the delivery, Tarus," she finely says flatly. "Get well soon; a lot of things you have to explain to the Council about how you handled the mission."

With that she turns on her heals and strides away. Janus gives the wounded man a brisk compassionate nod and fallows after her.

* * *

><p>"Gear up," she tells him as the elevator takes them up to the upper levels of Atlantis. "You're leaving in an hour."<p>

"Aeris," he ventures cautiously, "you're not yourself. We have to talk about what happened."

"We will, if that is still your wish when you are back from Avalon."

There is no even a margin for discussion in her tone.

He sighs, defeated, knowing only too well that all further attempts to reason with her will be futile. He's being only a half-Ta'ori, but that is quite enough for her power – the power she always so tightly keeps in check forbidding its manifestation – to be calling to him now, making him pliable and compliant even if his mind disagrees with her.

He wonders if she even realizes what's happening, being so pushed to the edge by deaths of her kin, and if she does, is she even cares?

"We still need a go from the Council," he observes neutrally.

"You shall have it. One hour. Bio-hazard protocol one. Phobus leads the mission."

The elevator stops at his lab level and the door opens.

"Go, Janus," she says and that he does.

* * *

><p>She stands on the top-level balcony propping at the railing, eyes taking in the city spread beneath her and the ocean shimmering along its edges. Her right hand rests upon the left wrist, fingers close to the section of the device that activates the comlink, short of touching it yet.<p>

She gasps once, twice, fighting for control, mustering the blinding rage and overwhelming sadness that combined within her in a powerful mix - five Tao'ri dead, five lives, precious more than anything to her, lost and for what reason?

If only Lantean Council was able to set aside their prejudice towards anything that comes from their distant kin and just for once would actually listen. But no, it doesn't matter that ages' passed and so very few of those who once had the worlds shudder where they tread left; the subconscious fear of what's long gone still breads bitter fruits of mistrust.

Not even the Covenant _never_ broken since signed helps the matter much. Eternity knows for how long they live side by side, mingling with Alteran escapes, having children together and serving faithfully, yet, those whose blood's still pure and carries the Eternal Flames remain if only tolerated.

This has never mattered that much, but now the Tao'ri paid a heavy cost for it.

She blinks and one lonely tear flows down her cheek. She lets it fall on the back of her right palm – a small salty cool drop on the warm flash. Her voice, however, when the device's activated betrays nothing of her condition.

"Phobus," she calls calmly.

"Yes, Ta'ora," an immediate reply comes.

By the tension his tone carries, she knows that he has already learned his twin brother Deimos is dead, yet the proper words must be said.

"From this moment on you are my second in command. Have the Ta'ori annals updated: today we lost five of our own - Deimos, Metos, Litos, Eros and Feros."

Each name she announces makes her heart twist in pain.

"All died in the line of duty. They will not be forgotten. We shall mourn them, we shall avenge them - such is my will. Now, get your ōnis ready - you heading to Avalon."

"All shall be as my Ta'ora wills," a firm response comes.

"Make sure Janus will not be wandering about there and believe me, he has every intention to do just that. Get to Altera, retrieve the data from the ancient outpost station, collect the samples of specific species – I am sending you details right now - and get back, nothing else."

"Understood. Bio-hazard protocol one?"

"Yes. And Phobus," she adds after a long pause, "come back safely. All of you."

* * *

><p><span>Ancient language (Author's invented)<span>

*ōnis – a battle unit of Ta'ori, consists of five members;

*Ta'ori – next to Gods – a genetically designed race of warlords;

*Ta'ora – the Supreme Commander of Ta'ori, possess the ultimate power granted by birthright;

*Altera – P3X-888 by SGC database, the Goa'uld homeworld;

* TTD – the Time Travel Device.


	7. Comes in a package

**Comes in a package**

_You meet a friend, every now _

_and then_

_How quickly these relations _

_turn into trends_

(**Trapt**, _The Game_)

Things are being strangely normal, Sam has to admit. Well, as normal as they could be for someone who carries a consciousness of the descended Ancient with thousands and thousands years of life – if _Ascension_ really could be called that - experience.

Carter is yet to make something defined about said personality.

Aeris keeps silent all the way down from the Cheyenne Mountain Complex to Sam's house in Colorado Springs. Unlike some Goa'uld she makes no snide remarks about how primitive everything she sees is, although Samantha is fairly sure that in that particular case it would be somewhat justified.

She does not ask any questions about what the things around them are or what they for, and Sam hesitates in her choice either it comes from her already knowing or just figuring it out along the way. There is also a possibility she does not care much, too.

Colonel Carter has not even slightest idea of what her _head-mate_ makes of her humble abode when she sees it for the very first time and Sam really wishes she would have left it more in order then she did. But then again, she wasn't expecting any guests when she had left for her job two days ago.

_Your adrenalin rush has been worn off_, is the only thing the Ancient says when they are finely there, _you should rest now._

"I have so much to ask you about," Samantha mutters dropping her back pack on the floor and heading towards her bedroom, suddenly feeling completely exhausted and dull, "but yeah, I really should."

Luckily, there is no off-world missions scheduled in the next few days so she has time to adjust to her new _condition_.

Naturally, all the 'whats', 'whys' and 'hows' are not answered neither right away nor in the next following days of their newly formed _symbiosis_, though Sam really, really reluctant to think of it as such - too much reminder of the Goa'uld _blending_.

Some things she learns, nevertheless.

* * *

><p>When she sees her own face in the mirror the very next morning it bears no marking of abuse; the bruising is gone, the cracks on her lips are no more as well. Her body in a pretty good shape too, despite all the endurance it took the day before. In fact, she feels better than she had felt in years. She is delightfully fresh and rested.<p>

_Not only Goa'uld can perform small miracles_, Aeris chuckles at her astonishment. _One really doesn't need a symbiote to be at one's best._

Next thing she learns, that damnable thing almost gotten her killed is something the Ancient calls a '_time-killer_' and apparently said device was supposed to play a significant part in her scheme against Anubis.

The machine, according to Aeris, has been designed to generate a containment field inside of which time would slow down considerably; one day within was to be equal hundreds of years outside.

"I didn't even touch it, I swear," Samantha says when the issue has been raised. "All I did was to try and reach the ring-transporter."

_Well, someone did_, Aeris observes dryly. _Tell me something; would you have happened to find a small blue and white crystals covered sphere?_

"Oh," Sam mutters. "Yeah, we… well, _I_ did. I honestly didn't think it to be a device, though. You know, no power source and all that."

_Samantha. I believe you already encountered with some pieces of our technology, yes? So **crystals** really should have done it for you. Is that how you usually doing this – just turning on completely unknown mechanisms with unidentified purpose to see what they will do? Your luck then must be having a stellar proportion as you are still alive._

"That's not how…" Sam starts and than interrupts herself. "You know what, forget it. Although, if this device of yours is so frigging important _and_ dangerous, you might as well hadn't left it just lying around. Anyway, can you fix it?"

_It was preserved in a containment field with a strict access protocol; that hardly could be called lying around. You shouldn't be able to activate a remote control and get anywhere near the device in a first place, but that we'll discuss sometime later. Answering your question, if I was a techno-genius as well as having necessary parts, I might try. Sadly, neither I am the former, nor do I have the latter._

"Oren built a Stargate in my basement from materials at hand." Sam shrugs. "I thought you all like that."

_Interesting materials your basement must be containing then. Remind me audit it later. Do tell me something now, though; exactly how many of your people know principals on what things they use every single day work? Does every one of them able to build, say, a nuclear power station? _

"God, no!" Sam cries. "Most know if only basics. But you are _the Ancient!_ "

_Well, sorry to disappoint_ – low chuckle comes once again – _apparently_ _you've got yourself the wrong one._

To Sam's surprise and relief she sounds pretty much amused and not slighted even one bit.

She also learns that as Aeris took that final blast from the device on her… well, _energy essence _ so to speak, shielding Samantha's body, she has been pretty much dried out and assembling a proper physical form right now is out of question.

"What will happen if you are to try anyway?" A scientific curiosity has to do with that question as much as a desire to establish all available possibilities.

_Well, my thought is I just cease to exist. It might kill you along the way, too, which means you have been stuck with me for a wile. Foretelling your next question, I do not know for how long; it could be weeks, it could be months. _

Sam is not trilled with a prognosis but surprisingly enough things do roll rather smoothly for some time.

Finding out that the Ancient is kind of a neat freak, Colonel Carter isn't really having problem with that - being come from a military family has its certain merits - but does not pass the opportunity to tease another woman about that.

_Knowing what exactly lies where could be vital if need is to arise_, a somewhat preaching reply comes, _and having your belongings in order might save your life, one day_.

That kinda makes her wonder what sort of life Aeris has had been having.

Once again reemerged from the dead Anubis remains the main subject of their talks, naturally, during which Sam learns how exactly he managed to escape a frozen hell of KS7-535; the same circumstances that made his imprisonment possible in a first place unfortunately had him freed as well. The ice storm came so violent one day that the frozen body of Colonel Vaselov, who sacrifice himself to become Anubis` prison, was shattered into peaces freeing the essence of the System Lord.

Even more unfortunately, the planet happened not to be completely uninhabited, so it didn't take long for him to find a new temporary host.

_If you could only have seen it_, _though_, Aeris notes. _Weird would be an understatement of the age, and believe me - I have known a lot of strange species. Once he was trough the Astral Porta he dumped it immediately, of course, even before… _

She suddenly becomes silent.

Sam thinks she knows why, remembering only too well what his presence did to bodies Anubis' _essence_ was using. They all where incredibly lucky he managed to took them for only a short amount of time.

Of course, the moment he was trough the Gate he picked up another poor human being for usage; Goa'uld are nothing but _vain, _remain in something _unworthy_ wouldn't even be considered as a possibility given a chance. And then there was another one, she knows, and then some more.

It horrifies Sam even to think how many already must have died slow, painful and disgusting death; rotted alive, poisoned with the presence of the descended Goa'uld. Or could he even be called that now? Exactly how much of what he was once remains?

Samantha remembers Selmak's words that Anubis was so bad the _System Lords_ had no better choice than banishing – and lets not forget about attempting to kill - him. What could become of such a character driven with a craving for revenge, for adequate comeback and possessing the knowledge of Ancients is probably anyone's worst nightmare.

"He must be stopped," she says firmly. "Their kind is generally unpleasant, but he is an abomination."

_My thought exactly._

"So, how do we do that?"

_We'll think of something, Samantha._

Sam finds that she likes how that 'we' sounds. It is surprising but very comforting that the Ancient apparently does not see her just as an imposed and unwanted addendum to a possibility of staying on the 'lower plane' until she can _reassemble _properly.

No one wants to be just a means to an end.

* * *

><p>All in all, as far as Sam concerned, Aeris proves to be quite an agreeable companion, if only a bit wry and sarcastic but far from vixen.<p>

She never interferes while Samantha's been working; in fact, she makes no remarks at all if not asked. She does, however, urge Carter to postpone all the non-critical projects in order of doing more research connected to their main task. The latter leads for them having more time spent with Daniel, who is more than happy to acquire a grateful listener; far be it from him to have one often.

Sam find herself being really uncomfortable with concealing things from her dear friend. Aeris' reassurance that it is only out of a great necessity does little to lull her conscience.

"We could have opened to him, you know," she raises the issuer, "if someone could understand my, I mean _our_ situation, Daniel would. He is the most sympathetic person I've ever met."

_Yes, that, and also he really is terrible at lying and conspiring, no offence. Do you really want to burden him with it so only you could have it easier? Dr. Jackson is highly intelligent man, granted, a brilliant scientist and generally very good person. Intriguer he is not. _

"My, but someone seems to be admiring him just fine," Sam notes with a surprise. "Is that like one erstwhile Ascended for another or do I detect something else here?"

_Why, Samantha, I do find him attractive as a male, but this is irrelevant. We are to continuer use his knowledge and researches without letting him into the plot._

Carter really does not understand why the Ancient would be interested in results of research on Ascension a mere human – fine, not so mere as this particular specimen has experienced said procedure himself, but a human nevertheless – having on the subject, and that she relays to Aeris without hesitation.

"What possibly Daniel can know that _you_ don't? It makes no sense."

_My was not the usual way to Ascend. Call it… a natural ability if you will, but that's not how others do this and it is most certainly not how Anubis had it done. The more we know on the matter, the better our chances to find how to stop him. _

"Can something like _it_ even be killed?"

_Not in a common sense, no; like one cannot kill the electricity. _

"Well," Sam concludes, "then, I guess, we have to find out how to shut him down."

_Very true, Samantha. So very true_.

And that they do. Having established as a basic line that what they have to deal with is a some kind of energy, aside from Daniel's work they direct their attention to inventorying everything Sam can think of as being useful at the SGC labs, putting on the list all the artifacts and mechanisms she had no time before to exam properly.

Colonel Carter even goes so far as to request some information from the Aria 51.

Sadly, nothing pops up right away as an 'Anubis bane', although Aeris is pretty optimistic about some of Ma'chello's inventions. Alas, neither hers nor Sam's knowledge is good enough to sort it out properly because of the complicity and incredible advancement of his handiwork. That, and one really could not make much out of a mere description and pictures obtained via e-mail, having no actual access to devices themselves and with no blueprints whatsoever.

_Pity he hasn't lived long enough_, the Ancient notes. _This man reminds me someone I knew once, in a way. Having such person around could've been very useful considering present circumstances._

"He was old, tired and bitter," Sam disagrees. "All the things he had endeared… it broke him, I think. I doubt he would be very much cooperative or, what more important, reliable."

_Never underestimate craving for vengeance, Samantha. _There is something in Aeris' tone, dark and eerie, that raises goosebumps on her spine. _The power of it is… driving, very much so. _

The other SG teams' reports have their combined attention devoted to them, too. And although Samantha already has her plate full, metaphorically speaking, she makes a habit of flipping trough the files during the meals at the mess-hall.

That earns her a few notorious silent eyebrow-raisings from Teal'c.

"Do you need help with something, Colonel Carter?" he enquires calmly one day, putting a tray on the table she currently occupies and taking a sit opposite her, his eyes examine a pile of files and notepad she currently carries with her everywhere.

Jaffa's remark catches her completely unawares and the spoon, she has been poking absentmindedly into the blue Jell-O while reading, hangs it the air. Sam realizes with uneasiness she barely noticed his presence, at that, before he talked.

"No, no," she hurries to respond so Teal'c wouldn't think she has been deliberately ignoring him, or, what is worse, trying to hide something, which she _does_, "I… uhh… just getting some things straitened, that's it. Thanks for offering, though."

Big Jaffa inclines his head politely and continuer his meal in silence.

_**Now, that is the man I like**_, Aeris approves. _**Less talk, more action.**_

Sam's cheeks turn into suspicious shade of pink causing a glance of implicit surprise from her friend. He says nothing, however, and she appreciates that.

May be this is not the case, but somehow Samantha thinks that Aeris' remark related to a phone call she got from the Pete last night.

_Awkward_ even doesn't start to cover how she feels talking to her… well, boyfriend with the other woman floating presence at the back of her mind. Aeris keeps silent, Sam has to give her that and yet, even that quietness somehow manages to be discouraging.

Luckily, Detective Shanahan informs her that he is, in fact, out of town for at least a couple of weeks which saves her from either the necessity of coming up with the reason why exactly they cannot meet when she is Earth-grounded at least for a week or the horror of some twisted trio-dating, as if she was a Goa'uld or something.

Apparently somehow Samantha manages to go through the conversation without raising any alarm bells, yet, when he finely hangs up with his usual sweet parting nonsense, it is a sheer relief.

Pete seems to be good and caring and nice… and all that too much to her liking, being honest. It's not that she doesn't value his obvious infatuation with her – every woman wants to be loved, she believes – and he does make her feel comfortable and confident as she has no doubts as to how he feels, yet something just doesn't feel right.

Or may be it's _someone_. Is he the man she wants it all from, Sam is unsure.

"That was my boyfriend," she explains rather unnecessary, suddenly feeling embarrassed and even somewhat pathetic.

_So it seems_, the Ancient notions and this is the end of it.

Now, as the opportunity presenting itself, Sam wants settle the score a little, so to speak.

_Wait a minute_, she teases, _I though you liked Daniel?_

_**Yes, why? **_Aeris sounds genially puzzled_**. Is my liking one man, somehow runs counter to appreciating another? I like Daniel talking; he is very intelligent and I enjoy seeing how his mind works; it's very inspiring. Teal'c's silence, from the other hand, I find very much soothing and relaxing.**_

Sam almost chokes on her coffee.

_You know, I have heard Teal'c called many things, but **soothing** never really came up._

_**I'm special this way**__, _the Ancient chuckles_. _

Samantha watches Teal'c leaving, looking as calm and composed and _solid_ as he always does and she understands perfectly what the other woman meant.

And here, having her guards down because of them once in a blue moon talking about something not related to saving the world – but about _men_ of all things, like normal women often do - Sam asks one of the two questions she has been strictly avoiding so far.

"Do you like Jack? I mean, General O'Neil", she corrects herself hastily. "Since we speak about my teammates and he is a member of the team, I mean, he was…"

She realizes that even mentally she babbles now and shuts up. Silence that fallows her question quite for some time Sam finds very unnerving.

_I respect and even admire how amply he managed his mediocrity serving the purpose, _a reply comes at last and from the tone of it that probably was intent to be a good thing, a compliment.

It doesn't feel like that.

"His mediocrity?" Sam is indignant. "Now you sound like some fucking Goa'uld. He is not mediocre. He is a good man. He was a great leader to SG-1. We all owed him our lives not once and…"

_Clearly you misunderstand me, Samantha, taking a term I used as something offensive. It is not. It merely means that compare to other teammates of SG-1 General O'Neil is the closest to average. _

Aeris does not sound embarrassed, irritated, or else. She simply says what she thinks, Sam realizes, and if Carter doesn't want to hear it, well then, she shouldn't have asked.

_He is a soldier, a good one at that, but do tell me, what can he do that you or Daniel cannot? _

Samantha is ready to argue that but… what she is to say? It is true that as a military she is no worse and even Daniel in years spent off-world became quite an adept in combat.

_But can he do what you and Dr. Jackson can, as scientists? Can he figure how some unknown device works, can he make it work, fix it? Can he translate a long forgotten language or pick up from the smallest of details what dead civilization was like? _

Again, Carter has to admit Aeris being right; Jack did not become even one more bit accustomed with the any kind of science than he was at the beginning. Not that he ever wanted to.

"What about Teal'c?" She demands, however. "He is a warrior, too, but that's it. No other special talents."

_Well, being coming from another planet and caring most of your life a Goa'uld larval in your belly… I'm not sure it can be called mediocre by Earth standards, although it certainly is by Jaffa's. Than again, being the Shol'va isn't. And Teal'c does speak Goa'uld and possesses impressive knowledge of their kind and technology. Yet, you right, your Jaffa friend is much closer to General than you or Daniel. _

"So, what are you saying?"

_I'm saying, that Jack O'Neil has managed to put you all together as a team, to lead you trough the trials safe and earned your utmost trust and respect. It is worth a lot. He can be amusing, too. _

"Huh," Sam mutters, completely puzzled. "So, this is a good thing, then?"

_Like I said_, Aeris repeats patiently, _he did his best being not in possession with any outstanding talents in a first place; so yes, this is quite an accomplishment_.

"Do you like him … umm… like a male?"

She knows this is stupid, inappropriate thing to ask, yet temptation is too strong to resist.

_No, definitely nothing like that, _an utterly nonchalant reply comes_, but I know you do. _

"It's complicated," Sam sighs.

_No, it's not_, Aeris notes suddenly coolly. _Either you have something and you act out of it, or you don't. Any excuses you can came up with as to why you can't do this right now or else would be just a made up justification._

And again, Samantha finds that something deep inside her agrees with this statement wholeheartedly.

"So, what am I to do?" She ask more herself that the other woman, and truly, why on Earth would she be asking something like that – a thing so very private and personal - of someone she barely knows at all.

May be it is not _knowing_ part that makes it possible though, like talking to some stranger along the way, realizing you will never have to meet again.

I_, probably, the last person should be giving advises on a matter of the heart._ Aeris sounds detached and wistful. _Yet one I can offer - never lie yourself no matter what; no matter circumstances, no matter your feelings. Do what you think is right. Anything else… you'll just have to deal with it in time, one way or another. Which you already do._

* * *

><p>It's been a whole weak since this bizarre event has been started, Samantha realizes one evening, entering her house with a package of Chinese takeout in her hands. Tiered, no, scratch that, <em>exhausted<em>, that's how she feels.

Sam hesitates between taking a nice relaxing bath and having a little snack first. The low angry rumble in her belly makes a decision for her.

Few minutes later, settled down on the small couch in her living room she deftly manipulates her chop-sticks, picking long noodle-strips that seem determined to slip the grasp, enjoying the food as much as a moment of calm and serenity.

The Ancient probably feels if too, as she is for once not rushes her to get over with it and come back to work. Again.

Despite it feels like work is all she does 24/7, Carter is not about to get compliant - the necessity of it she understands perfectly – yet it would be nice actually have a hand with it.

Oh, Aeris does her part all right; for once Sam has no problem whatsoever with anything related to the Ancient she has to work on. Unfortunately, most of the collected equipment is way past-Alteran – that's how Aeris calls her kind - manufactured. She manages be helpful anyway, for her ability to think out of the box is pretty amazing and never before Sam met someone who would be such a quick learner.

Yet, despite all that, despite how her determination and firm steady ever-present support helps to keep Carter from an exhaustion breakdown as well as her obvious manipulations with Sam's physics, what she can do is very much limited by her present state.

God, but help they could use.

Suddenly a strange sound breaks the silence of her apartment; it somewhat reminds a weak vibration buzz of a cell phone only Sam knows hers is not set on it.

_Just about time, _Aeris notes_, I was starting getting worried. Answer that, will you?_

"Answer what?" Sam has not a clue what the entity is talking about.

_Samantha, really?_ The other woman sighs. _The certain ring you have tossed in your drawer. Go get it, now. _

That last one bit sounds too much like an order to Carter's liking, yet she decides against the argument; the moment she was the most uneasy about this whole time appears to be coming.

Sam heads towards the tallboy still caring a noodle-box with her, trying to think what actually she is about to _do_. Drawler pulled out she stares a few moments at the damn thing wishing it just disappear, but of course it does not.

Where all the miracles when you need them the most?

_You might want to…_ Aeris starts as Sam reaches out for offensive item and takes it.

Everything goes white, so well known pull of Asgard beam makes her stomach twist a little.

… _leave your food home._

Light gone, Sam finds herself standing in the not so big almost empty room with two exits opened into long familiar looking passages. That and cowered with the Goa'uld script gold-shimmering walls unmistakably place her whereabouts to that of Ha'tak insides.

If that wasn't enough, in front of her there is a small dais with a chair more looking like a throne bearing the insignia of Ba'al and currently occupied by the said System Lord.

He raises an eyebrow giving her thorough once-over.

Sam bites her lower lip feeling blush creeping on her checks; she still wears her jeans and sweater from work, thank God, so she really, _really_ is looking quite decent, thank you very much.

The look smug bastard on the throne gives her makes her feel like Cinderella _before_ the fairy Godmother all the same. Her irritation turns into horror when she remembers about nice and comfortable slippers on her feet. The noodle box she still clutches in her left hand does very little to improve the situation.

Aeris' laugh rings inside her head like Christmas bells.

"Well now", the amusement in Goa'uld reach multi-tonal voice strangely resembles with he sound only she can hear, "_this_ is definitely new."


	8. Goes with a deal, part 1

**Goes with a deal, part 1**

_He deals the cards to find the answer  
>The sacred geometry of chance<br>The hidden law of a probable outcome  
>The numbers lead a dance<em>

_(_**Sting**_, Shape of my heart) _

The hard mirror-polished sit of his ebon throne-chair is definitely not the most comfortable place to occupy, but far be it from him to complain. One can really get used to almost everything, given considerable amount of time. Hundreds, no, thousands of years - he thinks - can be rightfully described as such.

To the sit of power whether it cozy enough matters not at all; the capacity for supporting an image of authority, confidence and royalty, however, is utterly required. Be fitting to a _Deity_. And for that elaborately carved and topped with his insignia black throne chair – one of Anat's gifts and did his late Queen have a knack for that kind of things – suits perfectly.

Besides, he is definitely not the one being the most uncomfortable right now; a Tau'ri female standing in a few steps away right in front of the dais beats him here, ten times.

He have known what she looks like long before they actually _met_, naturally, as he did with Jack O'Neil; just as well he would recognize any other member of infamous SG-1 if they are to run across. One should know one's possible adversaries, and these people proved to be very _encounterable _ when it comes to interfering with the Goa'uld business.

One would think some antiquated backwater planet that only recently barely managed traveling the Chapa'ai wouldn't - _couldn't -_ cause any troubles whatsoever for those who have ruled this Galaxy unchallenged at list past twelve millennia, and yet, that is how things stand.

Unsophisticated still - and that doesn't changed much since he left Tau'ri homeworld – they, however, managed contact the old enemy of the Goa'uld, Reenlokia*, and acquired their cooperation and protection. More so, they came dangerously close to the knowledge of the _Departed ones_ and their _technology_ existence, and it was the same knowledge that raised the Goa'uld to the Galactic domination in a first place whether most of his kin willing admit it or not.

All this 'are gods' propaganda itself can do only so much, after all.

That was outright foolish of Ra just to leave and do _nothing_ about rioted slaves, hoping for what, that they would just _die_ without his divine presence? _He_ would never do such thing. He didn't, if fact; even a slightest implication that his subjects were starting having any kind of wrong ideas led to punitive measures.

Alas, he was in no position to make such decisions back then and invading Ra's even neglected domain would be a pure suicide at the time. Even being smart enough for foreseeing forthcoming troubles got him a bitter payback.

But look how all of this turned out. Ra - the Supreme System Lord of Goa'uld Empire who seemed to be eternal - is dead, killed by descendants of his own slaves. His house ceased to exist just like the First Dynasty he had putted to an end eighteen thousands years ago. And if it's not for one stubbornly reluctant to perish anachronism – Anubis - _he, _Ba'al, would be the Supreme System Lord now.

Quite a way up for someone who has started as a minor underling coming from a fallen into disgrace Queen.

And to deal with this relict of the past, to rise to the greatness, he abases himself allying with a Tau'ri. O, the irony of it.

For the very first time he actually _looks_ at the female standing before him. She is tall for her gender but not overly so, slender yet being far from _delicate; _hers are lean but muscles nevertheless. Not a tender flower destine for men's pleasure as any decent female should be, but a worrier or at list considers herself as such.

Which is ridiculous.

Her features admittedly not hard to look upon, especially those sky-blue eyes complimented by blond hair, although he is fairly sure this is _not_ a natural color. His lips twitch in a hint of sarcastic grin as he thinks if she is even aware that having a haircut that short means in his world that she belongs to one of the Gods - no other female would ever do so, it is highly inappropriate. Even whores do not do that. And only a Lo'taur looks whatever pleases the master.

That, of course, applies not to Gods themselves, those who have chosen female hosts, anyhow. Although, he hardly can recall even one who would gave up willingly such a fine possibility to improve an appearance that elaborated hairdo presents.

Her clothes are a practically _screaming_ reminder that Tau'ri in general have no style whatsoever.

She wears funny looking trousers of color matching her eyes, but that's about all good that can be said about the item, otherwise it's hilariously unfeminine. Knowing Tau'ri undeveloped sense of fashion, it may be that was actually the purpose. Her sweater is too loose-fitting to compliment whatever qualities her figure has, although its creamy color is good to female's face.

By the way, the said face bears traces - which he approves - moderately applied cosmetics.

Not completely oblivious to her appearance then.

All in all, with the right clothing _and_ has been taught right manners, she would be quite a decent acquisition to one's entourage. He knows for a fact that late Heru'ur, for example, would consider her as an adequate host for his Queen. Apophis too, he even did try to suggest the type to Amaunet. Alas, his Queen decided stick with classics and it didn't end well. But who would know back then that taking a mere, absolutely non-outstanding Tau'ri away from her husband can be proven mortally dangerous.

The man was nothing if not persistent, he should give him that. And _of course_, the said man was and is a member of SG-1.

Which is one more reminder the cautious approach on the matter is strongly advised.

He places his hands on the arm-rests - and truly, the chair could be of a bit more comfortable configuration – giving deliberately scrutinizing stare at Tau'ri feet; a very sarcastic smile and an eyebrow lift display without words everything he could've said about her footwear.

Which is… well, outright laughable.

It has no heals whatsoever. It is shapeless, fluffy and _pink_.

The matter is not that he really _cares_, it is just that one should make the most of circumstances one presented with and forcing your _interlocutor_ feel uncomfortable - better yet, thrown out of balance - serves the purpose well. He shall use every advantage he can have, that's what he does the best.

Apparently, this is working on Colonel Carter - her expression changes rapidly from indignant annoyance that followed his 'greetings' to transparent uneasiness, her chicks flash with pink.

And truly, it almost matches the color of a source of embarrassment. He grins even wider.

She unconsciously brings the box she carries chest-high and hold it there as a shield, sort of. Then the realization that whatever in it is hardly serves the purpose turns pink into red.

Good.

Alas, he does not believe even one split moment any of it works on _another_ one.

The entity Tau'ri currently carries within her has no physical manifestation and that deprives of possibilities make caustic, or whatever for that reason, remarks about its appearance, which is the most unfortunate, considering _it_ being _she_. Females are so very easily to manipulate, like that. Its – hers - incorporeal state also makes fairly impossible to read her reactions to his maneuvering for theirs with Colonel Carter is not a blending he used to.

Which is the rather inconvenient.

He did, of course, do some digging about the Tollan – this meeting wouldn't be held yet, otherwise – and even visited their last known place of residence. Unfortunately, Tanith did too good a job and what he found there was not worth much either salvaging or studying; Ha'tak air strike left indescribable ruins in its wake. All the population was gone, so were the records. Whether Tollan managed it despite the chaos of assault or someone else did afterwards he has no way of knowing. The technology he encountered was reduced to pieces of junk, but he took what he could anyway. He would look into it later.

The Goa'uld archives provided him with not that much of the information, too. Tollan had chosen to live in isolation, so all that was mentioned there was an advice to stay away from the planet whereabouts and the Chapa'ai address in a list of banned ones. That, and a speculation about the Tollan being in touch with the Tok'ra.

All in all, it was not a complete waste of his very precious time, yet it left him with no basic line established about the entity's personality, therefore in possession with about zero knowledge what can be used as leverage. Which is rather irritating for he is not used play blind.

Truly, there was a moment he almost wished her being a _Tok'ra_.

Despite all the denial, the Tok'ra _is_ just the Goa'uld wayward kin he can understand. He knows how they are, what makes them tick, what they want and what more important, _how they think_. They are the same, truly, if only short of intellect; why else there would be a willful denial the power they could have had otherwise.

He always thought Egeria being not quite in her right mind; even before she had decided give a birth to the generation of renegades.

Ra's first Queen, the subject of envy and jealousy to so many, Hator – his mother saying in Tau'ri terms, although for the Goa'uld it would be so very inaccurate, as he was just one of so many neither she nor Ra were considering as actual heirs but merely the ones born to serve them – included, Egeria chose the path of endurance and suffering by her own free will _for no good reason at all_.

It is a big surprise, truly, that with principals their Queen had established not only the Tok'ra did survive in a two and half thousands years, but managed become quite a pesky subject for all of his kind. On the second thought, when it was not for a delirious idea that the Goa'uld should _not_ rule over the Tau'ri, that wayward kin was revealing all the right distinctive features of the Goa'uld, making themselves a formidable enemy.

To heck with the Tok'ra, then.

He will figure the entity out along the way; no Tau'ri, it matters not how technologically advanced become, would be a competitor to his intellect.

"You are late," he says to the both of them.

Tau'ri mouth opens with a transparent intention of making some indignant retort but the _other_ one apparently says something he sadly cannot hear and all that comes out trough the clenched teeth is _'I wasn't aware we actually set a date._'

"I had been trying to reach you three times already in past ten standard Earth hours. It is not prudent make your God await," he notes conversationally.

"Just can't leave this tune, can you?" She shakes her head incredulously. "Why, I'll never understand - you know for a fact I, _we_, do not think you being Gods. We _know_ you are not."

"It matters not what you think," he waives her rejoinder out. "Compare to your imperfection we are undeniably superior, thus, are Gods. "

"I wonder what that kind of logic makes of Asgard then, huh?"

An impudent creature actually utters soft amused chuckle, embarrassment forgotten completely. Unacceptable.

He screws his face for a moment. They ought to be sending endless 'thank you' cards to Replicators; that is, of course, if the machines would even understand what a 'card' is. Without constant battle Renlokia have been having for hundreds, thousands of years – as he knows now – there wouldn't be stopping them from much deeper meddling with Milky Way politics then by simple means of Protected Planets Treaty, and even _that_ is irritating enough.

It pains to admit, but the Goa'uld are at the technological disadvantage compare to the little grey freaks.

"It is not Asgard help you seeking, are you not?" he says haughtily, the irritation of an unpleasant reminder is rising.

"Right now, the thought is really an appealing one," she responds defiantly. "If all the contribution you're going to make is praising your supposed greatness."

The System Lord's eyes flash with temper held in check so far, part of him that is of Galaxy Sovereigns demands punishment for such an impertinent attitude. The palm of his left hand lying on the arm-rest raises and the gem of the Kara-kesh starts glowing.

"You are forgetting yourself, Tau'ri!" His low voice vibrates through the air filling the chamber.

Jaffa guards posted at the exits lift their weapons, priming it, pointing at the offensive female.

And then there is again this moment of stillness he has witnessed before - she definitely communicates with that one that _within_.

"It won't work on _him_, just so you know," Colonel Carter says in a slightly pitched voice - although otherwise any fear she might feel is hidden well, her face betrays none of it – and tilts her head towards his hand and then nods at the Jaffa general direction. "None of it will. So, how about we put a stop to this pissing contest and start talking actual business?"

He considers an offer for a few moments and then lets his palm down and makes a gesture to Jaffa detail who returns immediately to their guarding stance.

"You know," he says learning on the right arm-rest, "it is almost physically painful to watch how you _stalling _ awaiting for a tip. I would rather speak directly to a relatively intelligent one."

Once again her cheeks flushes red and this is consolation, however small it may be, that his acidic remark actually hit home - no insolence shall go unpunished _ever_, one way or another.

Goa'uld language 

* Reenlokia – Asgard


	9. Goes with a deal, part 2

**Goes with a deal, part 2**

_When the world's gone crazy_

_And it makes no sense_

_And there's only one voice _

_That comes to your defence_

_(_**Sting**_, It's probably me)_

These are very small changes indeed when the _other one_ takes over but here they are, nevertheless.

Tau'ri posture straitens, becomes more confident; shoulders going up and backwards, her back becomes one smooth line. Her chin lifts up too; a look of pleasant indifference and cool detachment makes that pretty but quite ordinary face of Samantha Carter appearing almost regal now for that expression is worthy of a God.

Somehow even those ridiculous clothes do not look so very hilarious any more.

Her look is sharp and unreadable and her voice as she speaks is slightly lower, the texture of it richer and deeper.

"Ba'al."

"Tollan."

She lifts an eyebrow. "Should I call you Goa'uld next time then?"

His lips twitch into a lopsided green. "You can call me _my Lord_ anytime and every time."

"In your dreams, perhaps." Tau'ri gives a graceful shrug.

He crosses outstretched legs before him, propping his chin on the right fist.

"I am very good at turning my _dreams_ into reality."

Her mouth right corner tugs upwards. "So I've heard."

She makes a show of looking around her then as if searching for a sit, but there is none of course, except for a throne chair - no one sitting in a presence of a God. Small things such as these help maintain a façade, serve as a constant reminder of a distance between the Devine and mere mortals.

From the brief ironical glance Tau'ri casts in his direction the purpose has been made. Oh, well.

"But," she continuers, "otherwise, why would we even be here, establishing such _eccentric_ an alliance."

On with the game, then.

"Speaking of 'we'… My condolences with your chosen host," his tone carries a note of fake sympathy.

"Are very much unneeded," she interrupts him coolly. "Not only Samantha has been a good company, but she is rather brilliant and very helpful in a matter of solving our mutual _problem_."

Ah, so she seems to genially like her host. Affection is a weakness he knows very well how put to good use. This is a start.

"All of that I find hard to believe," he gives her his best sarcastic look, prompting for more.

Alas, there is that nonchalant shrug again.

"Well, you might, if you would just stop insulting her every thirty seconds or so."

"You know," he tells her, amused despite himself, "I have a reputation to maintain; thus, no promises I cannot uphold to."

"That would require a divine strength indeed," she nods - all feigned understanding - face so composed and serious. Her eyes, however, almost glow with mischief. "But surely _you_ could manage?"

He laughs before he knows it.

_**Tricky, this one**_, says the part of him that is deception itself.

_That she is,_ another one agrees, _makes the game more_ _trilling, don't you think? _

_**Just do not get carried away, **_a little grumpy reply comes. _**Business always should come before pleasure. Anubis must perish. We must restore our position, secure and improve it. Do not forget what is important.**_

_Do I ever? I **am** you. _

Amusement aside, mentioning of Colonel Carter finding something actually useful is a matter to be pried indeed.

"Do enlighten me then, what that supposed discovery is," he says.

"Wouldn't it be more prudent…" she stars but an increasing noise coming outside the audience chamber interrupts her; distinct metal clank and dull sound of heavy footsteps unmistakably identifying approaching Jaffa unit.

Whoever's there, they apparently stopped by outer guards and he can hear an exchange. It is too far to make something define of it, though.

Tau'ri eyes narrows and she gives him a look of undisguised suspicion.

Ah, the old good healthy paranoia. That he can relate to, truly.

"Kel shak?" He demands as one of the outside guards comes jogging inside.

"My Lord," Jaffa bows his head, "troops that were sent to Kinnahi are back and ready to report."

"It will wait," he replies dismissively watching as Tau'ri lips curls in understanding of his reluctance to share whatever information brought.

"It is also said that the news are of importance and urgency," the guard adds irresolutely.

He motions with his hand and Jaffa takes few steps back and waits there, then he beckons and Tau'ri comes closer stopping right at the dais edge.

"Off with me I take it?" She says in a low voice. "Until the next time, then."

It takes mere seconds for a decision to form.

_**Let us show a little trust, **_ the voice inside him rustles. _**Tau'ri often easily bought on that.**_

_Worth trying,_ he agrees. _Also with little luck we shall see how fluent our __**allies**__ in Goa'uld_.

"It would be so much less embarrassing if not for a poor choice of outfit," he says to the female giving her features measuring look_, _"but it will have to do. On my right side - stay, eyes down and keep your mouth shut."

Judging from the narrow-eyed look she shots him, Tau'ri do not appreciate being ordered around. She does exactly as she was bid, nevertheless.

"And here I thought a _God_ can not possibly be embarrassed pretty much by anything," she mutters under her breath but loud enough for him to hear. Intentionally, no doubts.

"Worry not my sweet - I am to make a decent Lo'taur of you yet," he chucks softly and then raises his voice addressing to Jaffa, who if even being puzzled by what he witnesses shows none of it. "Send them in."

Two Jaffa enter the chamber - one he expected for and another one he does not even recognize, but a God need not know every single one of his servants.

They approach - the sound of Jaffa heavy battle boots contacting the floor produce quite loud an echo, armour plates clatter only adds to that - and stop ten feet away or so dropping to one knee, heads bowed low.

"Speak," he says, the flange in his voice booms exceeding any other sounds.

Dor'ak, who he has had in mind quite for some time already as being made his new First Prime, starts talking. While listening with half an ear – and truly, so far as it goes what was so urgent about it is incomprehensible – he casts a sidelong glance at the Tau'ri.

He wants to see if she seeing that in eyes of his Jaffa he _is_ a God, and with them so strong in numbers it is that that only matters. He searches for admission of his superiority. He looks for recognition of what he has achieved.

He wants to be the System Lord he had been before Anubis put him on strings.

He also looks carefully if she _understands_ the report.

It is hard to tell, actually; Tau'ri seems to be more engrossed in studying both knelt Jaffa that actually listening to what is being said. Her eyes narrows slightly and a light wrinkle appears between her eyebrows as if something is amiss, something she cannot put her finger quite on.

Perhaps these Jaffa are looking familiar – to Colonel Carter he would assume – because of some earlier encounter. Chances are – on the battlefield.

"… and this is what we brought to you, my Lord," he hears Dor'ak saying.

Ah, finely _something_. He shall have a talk with his Jaffa later of what words 'urgent' and 'important' suppose to mean.

"Show it," he drops, revealing only a slightest hint of irritation he actually feels, turning his attention back to his servants.

Dor'ak's hand slides under his armour chest-plate and - how is this Tau'ri saying goes? – oh, yes, all the hell breaks loose.

Something darts by the right side of him and the box Tau'ri was carrying that entire time hits unnamed Jaffa face, its content falls out all over, covering it with _something_ looking very much like a pile of worms. His mouth opens, but before he can shout is she_ completely _took leave out of her senses, the supposed Jaffa eyes _flash_ in white hot rage.

"Jaffa, kel mal tak Ashrak*!" Tau'ri cries from behind.

The assassin barks something and Dor'ak's face slips into empty mask, his hand when it comes into sight has a very peculiar ring on it. He points it right at him, his Lord, his _God_, and a deadly ray strikes but he is faster – so very timely activated personal shield absorbs the energy of a shot that was supposed to cut him through. Another command from Ashrak and enthralled Jaffa turns and points the ring at the guards on the right exit. The staff blast from the left one kills him but not before he manages to take out both guards.

Jaffa keep firing but to no avail - Ashrak is covered by a simmering force-field their shots deal no damage at all. _And when exactly those Hasshak* started using personal shields, _he thinks briefly before the force wave from Hara'kesh* sends his chair – and him with it – flying backwards reeling.

And then there is smoke so dense he cannot see anything in a hand distance and sounds of blasts keep coming from what feels like all directions and Tau'ri shouts somewhere out there _'Hol me*, Jaffa!'_

_Fluent indeed, _he notes absentmindedly, being in some kind of stupor.

His head pounds from the force of impact and when he moves trying to get himself out of the throne debris it _hurts, _the feeling he absolutely unused to.

A figure appears right beside him out of the smoke - Ashrak has found his target, because _that_ what they do the best.

The assassin crouches straddling him, metal clad knees diggings into his chest, pinning him down. An incredibly strong even for a Goa'uld left hand squeezes his throat so tight he cannot make a single sound – the Hara'kesh on it do not improves the situation in a slightest. Ashrak raises his right hand, the blade in it is ready to strike. Against _this_ his force-shield is completely useless.

Time freezes.

It is not fear that he – _they_ both – feeling but the anger so hot and burning, it simply denies any other emotion chance to exist. It seems ready to burst out of him in real flames. This is not – _cannot be_ – happening. He will not die like this, not _again_.

"System Lord Ba'al," Ashrak says in a cold empty voice, "you are pledged to the final death by decree of…"

The assassin chokes, wet and gurgle sound replaces final words. His eyes flash and then die out, his hold on the throat weakens. He watches in a bewildered fascination as the red blood of Ashrak human host mixed with the silver of symbiote drops from the thin pointy objects crossed-sticking out the front of his supposed killer's neck.

A hand shoves the body gravely wounded if not outright dead assassin aside and off him.

Everything is still covered with the smoke and blurry, and he is most definitely _not_ well - what he sees looking at the hovering over him female's face is _not_ blond and blue-eyed Colonel Carter of the Tau'ri. Not at all.

"Anat," he breathes out sharply, knowing this is not so the moment words leave his mouth.

How could he not, being the one who lit her burial pyre and stood there right until the end, watching hungry flames devouring the one and only creature he ever cared about? And yet, desire - no, craving - for this to be true if only for a moment overwhelms him.

"_My Queen_," he says before he able to stop himself and raises his hand to touch her face.

She cocks her head and gives him scrutinizing look.

"Not so _ridiculous_ after all, I would say."

He recognizes the reference to what he said during the Tau'ri interrogation immediately and it breaks an illusion.

"I have no idea what you talking about," he says putting forward arrogance as a defense and trying his best to look confident and regal. Not easy a task, considering the circumstances.

"But of course you don't." She still straddles his midsection dangerously close to the certain, well, _parts_ of him that become somewhat appreciative of the vicinity; stress _really_ does it for him.

"Let us get you back on your feet," Tau'ri stands in one swift movement before the situation turns into direction he shouldn't be even considering. "If I remember correctly, you have a reputation to maintain and your Jaffa finding their Lord in such a dubiously_ proper _ position would hardly serve the purpose."

She offers him a hand and he takes it with no comeback for once.

In the next few minutes the smoke is finely – _finely_ – gone. All the remained alive from the assault and newly-arrived Jaffa guards are have been shouted at to the point of not knowing whether they should feel dreadful for their God's near-brush with _death_ or that it was _nearly _ only. But truly, this is just how things are done.

Security measures are tightened to the top and even full Ha'tak sweep is launched, although he is fairly sure there was just one assassin – Ashrak are not the most sociable creatures even within their owns. Still, one cannot be too careful as the last events proved once again.

Dead bodies carried away and Jaffa servants put to restoring the audience chamber in order, guards are taken their places at the exits and watch closely all the movement inside. The throne chair is ruined beyond repairs but it will have to wait.

With so many things on his mind it is not right away that he remembers Tau'ri still being here.

She sits on the dais, elbows propped on knees, chin resting on the interlaced fingers, looking ruefully on her bare feet. Two Jaffa guards stand up close staring at the small female form.

He sends one of the servants to look for her footwear and walks towards the dais.

"You have lost your… shoes."

"Slippers." She raises her face to look at him. "Keeping them on wasn't my first priority, you know."

System Lords _never_ express a gratitude to anyone at all, less to those who beneath them, so 'you have done well' is the best compliment _ever_ to be paid. Somehow it does not feel right saying that in this particular case so he settles for not mentioning it at all.

"The box," he changes subject. "Was it some kind of Tau'ri primitive weapon?"

She laughs softly, looking fairly amused. "Only if your stomach disagrees with Chinese."

The servant returns and brings her… slippers, looking even worse for wear now, being practically turned into two still relatively fluffy but dirty and seedy pieces of rag.

"Oh," she mutters. "Sorry, Sam."

Then Tau'ri inclines her head politely and _thanks_ Jaffa, whose eyes widen in surprise. He waves the servant off impatiently.

"Chinese?"

"Food," she clarifies. "Samantha's dinner to be precise or at list it was, that's it. Luckily for you it often goes with the chop-sticks."

"You have brought _meal_ with you _here_?" His eyebrows rise incredulously.

"Sam did, accidentally." She shrugs. "Like I said, it was your luck and Ashrak's misfortune, apparently."

He presses his lips in a thin angry line at the mentioning of the assassin; the memory of lying here helpless, awaiting inevitable death is pure humiliation.

"Do you know," he says in a low dangerous voice and his eye glow, "how many have encountered Ashrak and live to tell the tale? Such persons are few and far between."

"I know precisely what Ashrak are." Her eyes became cold and vacant. "Samantha does, too."

"Yet, you have placed yourself between the assassin and his intended target. Why?"

He really want, no, need to know. Was it one of his servants the question wouldn't even arise; it is Jaffa's duty, their purpose, their fate to fight for their God, to _die_ for him.

But why would _Tau'ri_ take the risk?

Her lips curl in a slightly derisive smile. "I didn't."

He blinks in confusion. "What?"

"Didn't place between. More like sneaked up from behind. There is a difference, yes?"

"Why?" he repeats raising his voice and both Jaffa guards shift uneasily.

"We are allies," she responds after a pause in a very calm, reasonable voice, "are we not? So… consider it as something that goes with a deal."

He looks at her for a few long moments - having only now realized that she sat through the whole conversation whereas he was _standing _ - and offers her a hand. "Come with me."

She accepts it.

* * *

><p>"What is this?" Tau'ri asks, sounding if only curious without any traces of anxiety he would expect.<p>

"And here I had hoped that a rank Tau'ri idiocy does not apply to you," he snaps, because part of him keeps insisting that the decision he has made is a rush and impulsive one at best. "What does it look like to you?"

She appears not offended in a slightest, which is - if he is upright with his own self, and _that_ he always is – rather irritating. A blasphemous thought that she might be considering his mordancy as something _beneath _ her notion, like Gods not supposed to be caring what their slaves say or think, suddenly crosses his mind and he finds it rather… unsettling.

It cannot be so, can it?

"Looks pretty much like bedroom to me," she turns to him after giving his personal quarters thorough survey and raises an eyebrow in silent question.

He gives her a naughty grin and _the look_. "Do not flatter yourself, Tau'ri."

There is that maddening smile he has no idea what make of again. "Wouldn't even dream about it."

Then something catches her attention and there she goes immediately. Knowing nothing there is worth hiding he turns his back on her and starts pressing a combination of glyphs on the wall.

"Wow," almost _revered_ sound draws his attention back.

She stands near the low small table that has a chess-board on it with an unfinished set.

"You play _chess_?"

"I _invented_ chess," he tells her haughtily.

"No, you didn't." She chuckles and apparently makes a move. "Yu did, or rather borrowed the idea."

"Fabulous," he tells her overcoming a desire close the distance and look at the board. "How would _you_ know that?"

"Well, modesty isn't really peculiar to Goa'uld." She turns to face him. "You _do _ love brag."

"Insolence," he notes automatically pressing the last symbol and what was looking like a solid wall slides open revealing an entrance blocked by a force field.

Tau'ri comes closer and peers inside. "Oh. That is… impressive."

He pulls a dagger out of his belt but she does not even so much as flinch.

"I am going to need you blood," he tells her. "Few drops would be sufficient."

"Here," Tau'ri offers him her palm and he picks her middle finger ball.

He tells her to wait then and comes inside where he places her blood sample into the machine. When analyzing process is complete he pitches her identification mark into security protocol.

"You may come in now", he says.

She does so, stepping through the force-field without any further questions, surprising him once again - this one example of irritating Tau'ri kind in particular did not strike him as being much of a trusting person so far. Then again - he must agree - it make sense; either she does trust him – on this one at list – and then further interrogation is very much unneeded or she does not. In that case, nothing he would have said could reassure her.

"So," she says eyeing the surroundings, taking in all the equipment, all the devices he currently works on, "this is the place where a God creates and improves his magic. I wonder what would happen if someone irrelevant stumble across it."

"Why," he raises an eyebrow, "knowledge of a _divine_ power is a heavy burden. It destroys those unworthy ."

"Yet," Tau'ri smiles, "you granted _us_ the access. Why?"

He learns against the wall crossing his hands over the chest, suddenly feeling tired. _Old_.

Why, indeed.

"We are allies, _Aeris_, are we not? So… think of it as something that goes with a deal."

* * *

><p><span>Goa'uld language <span>

* Reenlokia – Asgard

* Ashrak – high-ranking highly-trained Goa'uld assassin

* Hara'kesh – Ashraks' trademark weapon similar to Kara-kesh

* Za'tarc – mentally reprogrammed person who is to commit certain actions when triggered

* Kel mal tak Ashtak! – Destroy the Ashrak!

* Hasshak – fodder (an insalt)

* Hol me! – Hold your fire!


	10. A war to wage

**10. A war to wage**

_Who will survive? _

_Let's get it on,_

_And we will fight_

(**Adema**, _Immortal_)

A blade in her right hand is so thin it can hardly be seen at all in this dim, tricky lightning. It does its job perfectly once again nevertheless: one swift arcing sweep of her wrist and the Queen's head falls off of her shoulders and rolls away from the body still standing. Two heartbeats later it follows, hitting the floor with a dull thump.

"Enimun lupum purnum pravis intus*," she says coolly turning around to survey the aria; the sound of her voice strange and foreign even to her ears, distorted by surroundings. "Without, however, does the trick just as well, and _much _ faster."

The Wraith cruiser interior is one peculiar sight indeed and this particular suite is no different; if anything, being here feels like poking through the insides of a dissected animal. Or insect, which would probably be, considering the circumstances, much more accurate a comparison.

_The Hive_.

Narrow twisted passages with fleshy purple living-looking - or actually _being_; from what she's known that could be precisely the case - walls. Cocoons, stuck to the said walls here and there, containing remains of Wraith resent and not very much so victims - their drained bodies just left to rot with no respect for lives forfeited whatsoever, like some food leftovers. She finds it not only enraging but repulsive, too.

Some passages – not all of them, thankfully – covered of all the things with the _mist,_ or at least with something that looks like it. Hanging knee high at best, it won't hide someone relevant, yet it is quite enough to conceive something that makes wet squelching sounds under her feet from time to time. She decides she doesn't actually want to know what causes them unless it's vital. Luckily, it proves to be not.

And there is also some kind of _web. _Its thick rope-like entanglement partially covers walls along the way and also blocks accesses to some main passage offshoots. A warning system? The _Authorized personnel only_ grid? Hard to tell. She does not touch it even once just in case, not that she would actually _want_ to; like cocoons it's a spitting reminder of the Wraith origin and she is not into bugs, really.

Janus, however, would be fascinated beyond himself. Well, perhaps, except for the dead bodies' part.

The Iratus bug - quite a peculiar, predatory and very deadly insect species originated in Pegasus - mutated and evolved into the Wraith absorbing for generations their human and Alteran victims' DNA. According to Lantean scientists, the event was arbitrary, accidental.

She has her doubts about that.

However, there is no reason to question that without Alterans seeding sentinel life wherever they come, there would be no Wraith whatsoever.

As you saw you shall mow, they say. But look _who_ eventually gets to be reapers.

She stares upon the dead bodies on the floor. Their black identical closes are dark holes in the white smoky mass hanging low at her ankles. Their look-alike long hair has the same dirty, grayish white coloring, like some elderly humans'. And like the _mist_. They are creatures made of shadows and nightmares came to life, people of the younger race say. For once, she tends to agree.

No nightmare, however, could withstand a direct run with a Ta'ori and live to tell the tale.

Discretion is a trend she values greatly and uses often, yet it is not for the lack of _other_ skills; every higher Wraith, every drone completely impossible to avoid on her way here servers a proof to it. There wasn't even single shot fired, nothing happened that would alert the Hive to the intruder's presence – her blade created in a place long-lost in time and space has taken care of it.

Not only Tao'ra is a heart and will of her people, but a hand of chastisement, too.

Eight higher Wraith stood between her and the Queen, eight heavily armed mature fighters ready to defend their mistress with their own lives around the clock, for the last living one of the triumvirate that had declared the truce negotiation with Lanteans and then ambushed their envoy obviously apprehended for her life and for good reason, as the other two Queens were killed within mere days and their Hives were destroyed given only enough time to send a distress call and notify others of what happened.

Three of the Queen's guards fell even before they started to comprehend what was going on, five others followed them shortly after, unable to inflict even a single wound on a lone lean form moving between them with the inhumanly speed, serving death in her wake. The multifunctional force field she placed on the throne room after bursting in prevented Wraith guards from calling for help and their mistress from escaping.

The Queen tried to put out a fight too - she has to give the mutants' ruler that - but there was nothing she could've done against the strength no less than matching her own and far superior reflexes; never mind countless generations of warlords' sovereigns with their vast battle experience and expertise passed though the blood to their rightful heir.

For times she marked the Queen, for cuts ripped her pale alien flesh accompanied by hisses and grunts of rage and pain; each one was a blood price paid for every murdered Ta'ori. These were painful and humiliating yet hardly lethal wounds, but… she watched in cold satisfaction as the Queen's expression changed from anger to fear when this _scratches_ - for this is what they should've been to a Wraith, let alone the Queen – failed to heal.

Not for this enemy her blade was made and yet, for the very first time in countless millennia it was unsheathed and proved its untainted quality.

She watched the realization of what was ahead drawing on a hybrid's face. A swift kill wouldn't be adequate a payback for what the creature participated in. No, only when she let her enemy have a full taste of despair and doom did she took her head off - the fifth mark, for her late second in command, Deimos.

She crouches beside the headless corpse and takes a medallion off it. The damn thing will alert every Wraith at the Hive the moment her force field's deactivated. Try to destroy it without proper proceedings, there's going to be such an energy outburst multiplied by the field power that even her unique battle-gear will hardly protect her sufficiently enough.

She would have teleport to her cloaked shuttle normally drifting nearby the Hive, as she did before, but unfortunately this one ship has some kind of a jamming device active that utterly denies the possibility. This is new, and should've been investigated further too, alas, the circumstances are unfavorable.

So, the most likely option is to make a run for it back to the darts bay, where her disguised transport now awaits. Inconvenient but irrelevant. She will manage. There can be no failure.

She rises on her feet, comes closer to one of the exits and reaches for a hand-device, ready to shut the field down and redirect all the power to her personal shield before started running.

"Very impressive," a low rumbling alien voice says from behind and she spins around on her heals at the sound of it to face the new threat.

* * *

><p><em>The Queen's fingers linger on the prisoner's cheek touching it almost gently, but he knows better than to take it for a caress. <em>

_"You shall not have anything from me", the kneeled male spats, the anger and disgust are evidential in his voice. _

_"But I shall", the Queen purrs before she presses her palm firmly to his face, anticipating the rush of pleasure the life-force pouring into her would bring._

_Nothing happens_.

_"What is this?" she exclaims, turning to face him, hardly more than annoyed so far._

_This, however, can be changed and oh, so very quickly. He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. _

_"I know not, my Queen," he bows slightly. "I've never seen such as this before."_

_"Some Guide you are," she mutters and turns her attention to the prisoner once again for which he is grateful. _

_She has quit a temper, his mistress._

_"How is this, that you are not succumbed to my powers?" she demands of the human. "Tell me, and your death will be swift and painless; or better yet I might even spare you." _

_"Whether I shall live or die remains to be seen," the male smiles crookedly, and by the Hive, despite of him being unarmed and subdued this grimace is very much unsettling. "You, however, are already dead. Just don't know it yet." _

_The Queen laughs at the sheer ridiculousness of his statement. She's so amused she isn't even enraged, yet._

_"Is that so?" she queries mockingly. "Does this petty anomaly make you be thinking thus? What a fool you are, then. True, it seems like I may not able to feed on you or influence your mind, for some reason, but rest assured - I'm quite capable of making you suffer and wishing for a death to come."_

_"That's exactly what I said," he pronounces with a serene certainty. "She will come and you're going to die."_

_The Queen slaps him, the force of impact makes prisoner's head jerk so severely that for a moment he thinks that the human is about to go down. This, however, not happens. The man spits the blood from his mouth to the floor and laughs. _

_She's hardly alarmed by his defiant words, yet a mentioning of someone presumably more powerful, more fearful than her causes exactly a reaction he would expect of the Queen. She is infuriated with jealousy. Learning down to the prisoner she hisses right into his face._

_"Who is 'she', your Queen?"_

_"My life," the man states, his eyes blazing fiercely, "your oblivion." _

He wasn't exaggerating in a slightest, that strange prisoner. She did come and death followed, hot on her heals.

A trail of his butchered brethren led him here to witness a final act: the Queen ceased to exist, just like she was promised. Good. He never liked that bitch. A thought forms in his mind as he watches the medallion – a sign of Queen's power – being taken off the body. Before the intruder would disappear in one of the Hive passages he calls for her attention.

She ventures in a blur of motion facing him and he has his suspicions confirmed. He shows her his empty hands before she would decide that he is to join lifeless bodies on the throne room floor.

"It's an honor to meet you in person, Commander. I'm not here to cause you any harm," he says hoping it sounds not as ridiculous as it feels being saying the words. "If you would just give me a minute to explain, I'll make it worth your while."

The left corner of her mouth tags upwards in a sardonic grimace bringing out a distant resemblance to the prisoner. She studies him for a moment with a very cold, calculating look.

"Speak fast," she finely drops. "Although my job here's nearly done, I still have a war to win."

It takes him by surprise for he was ready to an outright refusal as much as for some haughtily _'we have nothing to speak of'_ remark. He even prepared words to try and make her listen. Frankly, he was approaching to the task as if she was a Queen. But clearly, she is not, so he has to adjust.

"Do you know what a Guide is?" he asks.

"This is who you are and this is what you are," she says dryly. "Would that be a sufficient enough level of knowledge?"

_But of course_, he thinks briefly, _know your enemy_.

"I am… or more accurately I _was_ and am going to be, again, a Queen's Guide. I came here to propose an exchange," he tells her ignoring an incredulous eyebrow rising. "I shall ask two things of you. One of those would be you giving me the medallion. The second, you will not destroy _my _Hive as it happened with those two before. Your offenders are all dead; surely, to take your revenge upon the lesser ones who had no saying in what happened with the envoy ship is beneath you."

"So much for the loyalty to _your _Queen," she cocks her head, eyes of a strange ever-changing color scrutinize him sending unexpected shivers down his spine. _Danger! _ his mind screams at him but he wills it to shut up.

"Actually, you did me a favor," he tilts towards the headless body. "She was… insufficient. Another shall come into her place: the younger, stronger one. Smart enough to make enemies she can handle and to take the timely advice with gratitude."

"Ah," for a moment she looks genuinely amused. "Already evolved enough to learn what a coup is, then. Congratulations. What's in it for me, Guide the Wraith?"

He ignores her jab at his origin. Talks are not the matter of determination whose species shall prevail. The war won most certainly is, and that his kind shall have.

"A safe passage from the Hive," he answers and seeing her indifference at his offering portrays a wide arc with his hand taking in the carnage. "As extremely proving as it was, yet you might find it difficult to fight off every Wraith on this ship."

"Insufficient," she tonelessly says much to his surprise; a sensible creature no matter how powerful still must be able to access the challenge the situation presents. Every Queen he ever new would put her own wellbeing above everything else, and rightfully so. Why test the fate? Unless, of course, it is he who has it all misjudged. Her further words serve to confirm this highly distressing assumption.

"The availability of _difficulty_ yet remains to be seen. Now, if that's all…"

Luckily, he still has something in his sleeve.

"When one asks of two things, that is what one must offer in return as well," he notes calmly as if it was his intention all along. "I would give you a safe passage and one of _your_ man's life. Happened also to be the _Commander_ of this Hive I can guarantee this."

Her face remains calm and impassive but her eyes blaze and he knows he got her.

It is exactly how he'd hoped when in spite of a direct order from the Queen he secretly kept the prisoner alive. Just to learn more from him, for a start, to determine at least something defined about his immunity to Wraith powers. There were few other things very much worth looking into as that man obviously was no average Lantean they had incarcerated before.

However, when news about the first destroyed and in a very particular fashion Hive came, he knew at once that that fierce, utter and absolute loyalty the prisoner had shown despite everything he had endured to the one he recognized as his superior is mutual, at least in a way.

A person, who would go for such length to avenge, surely should be more then interested in getting what's lost back. He'd bet on that and he's right. Feeling responsible, _maternal_ even to the certain degree regarding the lesser ones kindred is one of the treads all good Queens possess. It's a shame, really, that that one's born Lantean as she undoubtedly would make a great one. He has watched her for years, collecting every small bit of information since he realized who would be the most dangerous adversary his people are to fight.

One really should know one's enemy.

Exactly the same qualities he would admire and more than welcome in a Queen are those that make her a dire enemy to the Wraith. Even if they are to have this deal now, after that all bets are off. She must be dealt with and fast if what the Wraith started is to end in their favor. She's probably thinking something along this line, too - the situational mutual advantage is no reason at all not to be at each other throats when the moment's passed.

He very much counts she thinks this way too.

"What say you, Atlantis _High Commander_ Atorious, do we have ourselves a deal?"

* * *

><p>First thing he becomes aware of while drifting out of darkness, overcoming dizziness and nausea on his way regaining consciousness is a hand holding his own. Its coolness revives him. The energy pumps through it and into him bringing at least some of his strength back and making that drug-induced fog he was lost in for what feels like ages vanish.<p>

He recognizes whom this hand belongs to even before forcing his eyes opened – a deed that takes almost everything he has in him right now.

"Forgive me Ta'ora, for I have failed you." His voice is hoarse and low and every word coming out of his mouth is a struggle. "The envoy… the others…"

He stares right at the blackness behind the shuttle view screen in front of him, hardly seeing anything at all. The feeling of shame, of failure, of _losses_ he remembers now is a heavy burden that makes his shoulders sag.

"Nonsense," she interrupts him in that imperious tone that leaves no room for debates at all. "You have done everything I wished of you and more."

He glances sideways where she sits in the pilot chair. Her left device-gloved hand hovers over the navigation panel operating the shuttle, eyes focused intently on the stream of data running on the screen.

She looks so very familiar in her dark-bronze battle gear she favors so much he hardly can remember her wearing anything else at all, rich chestnut hair put in a short neat braid and a calm composed expression on her face. And the fire's burning in her eyes as it always does when there is no need for concealing Ta'ori true nature.

It is as if _nothing_ has happened; it would take if only a little of imagination to envisage this being one of countless battle simulations he had been put through during his tutorage. It would be so easy to think of everything that occurred after he set his foot on _Assumption_ as of a very vivid yet a dream. Only this is not so. Blood and gore, pain and death he has perceived are very much real. There is war going on out there right now. And war is a matter their kind was designed and bred for.

With all that ages of peace and prosperity it was so easy… well, not to _forget_ their true nature and purpose but to have it become more a matter of a distant legacy rather than an actual life mission. True, they've been taught this day would come sooner or later. Yes, they were given the most advanced and severe trainings, both physical and mental. Each one's of them talents were carefully explored and the most fitting roles within the Ta'ori structure assigned. And war was in their very blood and yet… when that day _did_ come most of them weren't ready. Not really, anyway. That abstract knowledge couldn't truly prepare to what the actual war is – that's why they failed. The trap, the overwhelming manpower Wraith had on them, even the crying incompetence of the Councilor in charge of the parley process and his refusal to follow the appropriate security protocol were secondary details. They were _used_ to peace, and that was that.

She, however, is different; she always' been. It is only now he starts to comprehend what does it mean to live this kind of life – not only to remember every battle fought from the beginning of the time, from that very day the very first of their kind was born, but to have actually felt lived it. Madness. And yet, here she is, as safe and sound and sane as it actually gets. More so, she's being the only one keeping a very dangerous part of their legacy at bay. An incredible burden, but look at her – she is as steady as eternity itself.

His blood. His sister. His Tao'ra.

He's overwhelmed with the need to express his feelings, to show her how much she means to him, and the words of the ancient vow from the beginning of everything they are break the silence.

"My life for you."

She turns to face him. The ever-burning flames rise in her eyes even brighter as she squeezes his hand tightly; for a moment gone is coolness - it's warm, burning hot even.

"As I live for all of you," she says and those not just the proper words of his loyalty acceptance. "Always and forever."

* * *

><p>He stands before the command center holo-map displaying their current location and stares the entrance. There is no one else here which would be strange at any other cruiser, but this one in particular could be managed with a minimal crew in general and was designed to be operated by just one person if needed – the most powerful vessel in Pegasus Galaxy, the flagman of Lantean fleet, Atlantis High Commander's and, doing two jobs at the time, Ta'ora's personal battleship.<p>

_Firestorm. _

She is_ his_ ship, too, because hardly ever there was a Captain that would think of the vessel under his command otherwise. He loves them both, loyally and fiercely – the ship and her mistress - and what looks like more then he should.

He hears her approaching, handing orders around and somehow managing to attend multiple different things simultaneously. She is good like that. _Has_ to be.

_Where are we on that signal imitation? Contact outpost Tau. Give me update on teams Epsilon, Xi, Pro and Omega progress. Reschedule visiting sector Delta. Med bay is to report the moment they have test results. _

He feels small smile curving his lips for the very first time since _Assumption_. To have one of his brothers back does not make the grief he feels any lesser, yet, however small, it is a consolation.

He would rather met them right at the shuttle bay to make sure they both are fine immediately, but this is where he belongs, so patiently he waits till she gets here. It doesn't take long.

She enters the quarters and answers the question before he has a chance to ask.

"He will be now, when fully deprived of suppressing drugs; it is nothing our metabolism would not handle. I refused leave anything to a chance, anyhow, he has treated as we speak. The update on Metos' condition will follow shortly."

He nods, "Good. And good to have him back, too."

Her expression softens for the briefest of moments, "It is."

It doesn't last long, however. She comes to stand beside him and continues in a much cooler tone, "Now, to the less pleasant matter. Explain, exactly how did you manage to loose that Hive."

He grimaces with irritation and averts his gaze. "They dropped to the hyperspace before we could've had a clear shot. Your shuttle was still too close."

She utters thoughtful _hmm_. "Detected my transport despite the cloak. Planted charges to the hull. Full scan requires time and slows down, neglect the procedure – you're going to have quite a _boom_. Win-win situation and he made the best of it. Quick thinking. Smart bastard."

The explosives part gets his attention even more than the _bastard_ one, "What?!"

"I'll brief you later," she waves his concern off. "Did the Hive send any signals?"

"No."

"Good. Proceed as planed then."

He hesitates. "Without residual post-explosion radiation we wouldn't be able to cover our energy signature. They would know that we are, it fact, not helpless at all. Chances of getting any enemy ships into the trap decrease drastically."

She frowns, "How drastically?"

He closes his eyes briefly, bits and pieces of information they have on Wraith rearranging in his mind until the answer clicks – yes, he is good like that. "Seven point twenty four present. I'm sorry, Ta'ora, it won't work."

She crosses her hands under the chest, shrugs and flashes him one of those lopsided grins that periodically drive mad most of the Council members.

"Well then, the solution is obvious, isn't it? Drop the shields, power – at operational minimum. Twenty percent should do it."

His mouth hangs open and for a few seconds he's lost his words.

"But… it will take some time to have it back at sufficient level to raise the shields al least, and then some before we will be able fire back. Time enough for Wraith to tear us apart if the weapon won't work."

"Does it matter?" She shrugs again. "It _will_ work."

"It's untested!" he exclaims, resistant to believe that she would actually take such a risk. "Not in a proper way, it isn't. Having blueprints older that time itself is one thing. Now, to build the item operational, having no adequate experience whatsoever and at the deadline …"

"Well, we'll never know without actually testing it, right?" She looks completely nonchalant.

It is not his place to question her and he knows it well. She leads, they fallow - as it always has been. It is not characteristic of her to dismiss others' thoughts out of hand though. She does listen and to those who of her own more than to their more distant brethren. However, once she has her mind made up, all arguing is off table. And the fact – which means everything to him but hardly anything to her - that they share a bed from time to time, cannot change that.

Ta'ora is and always has been free to choose anyone she wills as her mate, anytime, but belongs to none other then _the Ta'ori_ . It is only up to her to determine how long relationship would last and what form it to take. He knows as a fact she was close with Demos too, but being the Second in command he was a reasonable, traditional even choice. He shouldn't be even knowing what a jealousy is, and yet … While accepting how the things are, he doesn't have to _like _ being just the one out of few.

Regardless, it didn't prevent him from being mad with fury and grief when he learned of _Assumption_. Each Ta'ori's drop of blood is precious; each one's death tears a hole in a fabric of existence for others, leaving them to patch it so they can go one. So very few of them left whose blood still carries the Eternal flames. There cannot possibly be rivalry there.

_But then there is Janus, and it's all together one different matter. _

"Fine," he utters through the clenched teeth. "Leave the _Firestorm_ then. Take your shuttle to the safe distance and wait. If everything's worked out, we'll pick you up afterwards. If not, well then… at the very least you'll have a chance to rethink your redundant faith in the half-blood."

"Do you really suggest me demanding of others _anything_ I'm not ready to do myself?"

The temperature in the room seems to be dropped drastically, and although her tone is still calm, he can spot the note of anger creeping into it.

He admits, he shouldn't have picked on Janus like that, for like it or not, the scientist really was the one who managed to make something of the ancient coding and move it up into the actual blueprints.

From the narrow-eyed stare she measures him with he knows that her tolerance to his defiance's come to an end.

"Standing here _debating_ and loosing precious time when the decision's already made, with that Hive somewhere out there, decreases our chances too; or did you forget to include this particular condition in your calculations?"

"I…" he starts, realizing that he's gone too far, but she won't let him finish.

"You have your orders, Captain. Comply."

He does as he's bid and they wait in uncomfortable tight silence until the first red dot appears on the holo-screen, followed soon with a few more.

"Fifteen minutes before they drop from hyper-space," he says hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off the picture of approaching hostiles. "Seven Hives in tote. I hope you know what you're doing, Aeris, or this is going to be one long flight for a very short fight."

"I do hope so," she says, activating the holo-interface and a console appears hanging in midair.

He knows that the moment for the Disruptor's activation must be _very _ precise. Do it too early and Wraith would definitely sport the enormous amount of energy building so rapidly it reminds of a super-nova and will do the only reasonable thing to have done – they'll skip the drop. Delay and the drop will happen before the weapon strikes, leaving them utterly helpless before the enemy. Such demanding the device is that it requires almost everything they've got to be activated. It will take some time before the Firestorm would return even to half of her full capacity.

This kind of the ancient warfare was used just ones - eons ago when the Tao'ri fought their way off the home Galaxy against the dire enemy and only because they saw no other choice.

To operate the Disruptor, one would need become if only for a short amount of time whole with the Universe, would need to _feel_ that _'this is it'_.

He keeps quiet although it hardly necessary – she can be dead to the world without loosing awareness. Her eyes are half-closed as if she's listening to something he cannot hear, and that can be precisely the case. Her expression is calm, relaxed one even; a small smile lingers on her lips. She looks… _content_.

_More content then when she is __**with**__ him_, a bitter thought occurs.

Time starches and it feels like years between the moment her left hand starts moving and up to the point when her palm lies on the bright orange stamp on the virtual console.

This _is_ it, then.

He blinks as the seven dots flash and disappear simultaneously - just like that. Wraith cruisers simply ceased to be the millisecond they'd started coming out the sub-space. There was no explosion. There are no crumpled hulls and broken pieces floating in the dark debts of space. Nothing betrays what has happened. Whoever created this device was a genius and – he admits with reluctance - it took no less than one to build it again.

"It worked," his voice is low, hoarse and slightly disbelieving even now. "It did work."

The sound of alarm interrupts him. He rushes to the command terminal and checks the readings; she joins him, a frown on her face.

Something strange happens with a planet they can see trough the observation screen. According to the _Firestorm's_ remote scanners its temperature suddenly has started rising exponentially as well as its radiation level, just like a star before it would go nova. Only this is _not_ a ball of incandescent plasma, but a terrestrial world.

"What's happening?" He asks bewilderedly already knowing that nothing good _is_.

She shakes her head, "Unforeseen complications. A side effect, obviously. It looks like the Disruptor somehow triggered the extensive production of energy trough the nuclear fusion. Something down here must've responded to the weapon. We have to leave and fast. "

He processes the information and the realization draws at him. This is a _habitual_ world. That's why that Hive originally even was here – apparently they claimed it as their hunting ground, which means there is a human population. And now they are doomed. He never really cared that much about the younger race; even Lanteans in his eyes weren't even nearly close to being of the same value as his kin. Yet… to think of all this lives that are about to be forfeited because of what they have done makes his stomach roll and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Is there anything," he starts but she interrupts him in a cool composed voice.

"Those in a close proximity to the Astria Porta and smart enough are leaving this world as we speak. The others… well. Everything comes with a price; the enemy has been hit hard."

"A heavy cost."

"I pay it gladly," her eyes flash. "Think of how many lives would have been lost if we are to lose this war. This _cannot_ happen."

He averts his gaze, admitting it does have a ring to it, yet reluctant for once accept the harsh truth she never bothers to sweeten.

"If I could avoid it, I would, you know that," she continues in a softer voice, "but I can't. And I can't let myself dwell on something I have no control over. Save all the data, I will have Janus looking into what went wrong when we back to Atlantis."

He nods, hiding a twitch at the half-blood's name spoken, "Whatever my Tao'ra wishes."

She turns and locks her eyes on the command terminal, "Good. Now, when are we ready to jump?"

That reminds him that not only life down there, they too are in danger staying in such a proximity to the planet that apparently goes against all the laws of nature back to being a star. Or even nova.

"Twelve minutes," he says re-checking the _Firestorm's_ power level and gives her a querying look.

"Unacceptable," she shakes her head. "Ignore all secondary systems, de-energize additional shields and loose the canons. Cut down life support to minimum except for the med bay and bring the hyper-drive online. Now."

He initiates the process, cutting off the entire power requirements excerpt for the primary systems and says adopting the same calm cool demeanor she's fallen into, "Five minutes."

She turns on her heals and heads towards the large observation screen and stops, resting her palms and forehead on it. "Good."

"This is not your fault," he suddenly says unable to bear the sight of a slim lonely figure facing the vast darkness of space pierced with the cold star light, the doomed planet making one eerie background. "Janus should've done better…"

"There is no fault," she drops in a dispassionate, absentminded tone. "The Wraith are down seven Hives, and _that _ is what matters."

She turns to face him and folds hands under the chest.

"This is war. The Council may entertain themselves with illusions, but y_ou_ should know better that to think it can be won without sacrifices. This is just the beginning."

And again, she's right, but doesn't she always?

He glances towards the control panel and sees that the power has reached the essential level.

"We are ready to jump in five, for, three, two..."

It's just a slight tremor as the ship drops into hyper-space. He momentarily starts rerouting the increasing spare power activating additional hull shields, knowing only too well that the build-in ones - even those of the _Firestorm_ - can take only so much of the subspace radiation before it starts affecting the crew.

"Good job," she says heading towards the exit. Then stops abruptly and says without so much as a glance back. "And, Chaos? Don't you dare to forget, it's not your place to question me, ever."

* * *

><p><span>Ancient language<span>

*Enimun lupum purnum pravis intus - Verily, the corrupted sinner will be cleansed from within


	11. Well learned lessons

**11. Well learned lessons**

_You keeping in step, in the line__  
><em>

_Got your chin held high_

_And you feel just fine_

_'cause you do_ w_hat you're told_

_But inside your heart it is black _

_and it's hollow and it's cold_

_(_**Nine Inch Nails**_, The hand that feeds__)_

Today is bright and sunny. Luckily there is still time before it becomes a matter of annoyance rather then joy: summers here tend to be particularly hot and extreme humidity does not improve the situation in a slightest.

Yes, even Gods can suffer the heat.

Granted, his Pyramid* offers incomparably more protection than any local Tau'ri-built structure and yet… There are days, he really misses Kinnahi with her temperate climate.

Those were good times, too. Invested with the power directly from Ra, he ruled there for centuries – a whole planet mind you, not just some pathetic dominion at the First - after the local king's, who was stupid enough to fall into disgrace with the Goa'uld, untimely departure, so to speak. He had assumed a name _Re'ammin the Thunderer_ to fit into the local Pantheon and was doing rather well quite for some time. It wasn't his fault, really, that the planet happened to be of the Departed Ones' legacy so her people were significantly hard to convince how grateful they should be for the Gods condescended to live amongst them.

In fact, he is fairly sure said people - impudent creatures as they were – hardly bought that elaborately created staging at all. The power Goa'uld wielded they understood well, however, which should came as no surprise considering they had seen what it did to their floating city Tsapan. Unfortunately, Kinnahi took that impressive demonstration for what it really was – a manifestation of advanced technology and no divine magic.

He _warned_ the Sun God once – well, to what extent he could without unleashing Ra's wraith upon himself for even hinting Goa'uld not quite actually being _Gods_ - that they cannot uphold the same act everywhere, that the Galaxy still remembers those, who by all accounts could call themselves just that but never did. That there are worlds with civilizations advanced enough so they won't swallow the ruse and it would require a somewhat different approach to subdue them.

Kinnahi was one of those worlds. She was not easy to rule over to begin with, and unfortunately it didn't take all that long - for really, what is centuries to his kind that lives millennia – before people there put themselves together and started rioting. That he would have had dealt with undoubtedly, but they also found - and he didn't until it was too late - something left from the ancient times and… well, let's just say Re'ammin the Thunderer left the planet in haste.

It is a small consolation, if any at all, that in their desire to get rid of the Goa'uld the Kinnahi released what they did not understand and could not control. There is no intelligent life on the planet now and there likely will be none for millennia, until the nature repaired the damage done.

Yet, the times _before_ that he remembers with somewhat of nostalgia. No one was telling him what to do save for the original Ra's order to go there and bend the wicked to his will. No one was watching him constantly fishing for mistakes that might be presented to the Supreme System Lord and could - probably would, too - lead to his fall into disgrace. He was able to try and actually did experiment a little with the management style over his charges, putting more thought into the doing itself rather that relying mostly on the propaganda and fear.

He misses all that, true, but what he lacks the most here, on the East shore of Mediterranean Sea, is the feeling of _freedom _ Kinnahi, the world he was send to enslave, gave him.

Oh, the irony of it.

He, however, does not miss at all what happened after he was forced to flee the planet, ran into Mot and received quite a respond from Ra to his freethinking in tote as much as a punishment for loosing the rebelled world.

If it was not for Anat…

He hears approaching clatter of wooden soles and despite all the time they've spent together he feels compelled to turn around and let his eyes marvel at the sight of her.

She enters the chamber, his Queen, as tall and proud as ever.

Today his mate wears a simply cut ankle-long red satin with loose-fitting three quarter long sleeves. The robe decorated with the elaborated golden embroidery at the hem and round-cut low neck. Her open aureate sandals – a tangle of straps, really - reveal red on her toenails matching the dress perfectly. She wears a lot of jewelry as she often does. Golden rings in her ears draw attention to the column of her neck. Her elegant hands look even more delicate decorated with fine golden rings, her long nails left unpainted save for a tiny golden ornate of their primal form with a red dot for an eye on each one.

He smirks admiring the jest.

Her long auburn hair has been done into a pair of thin braids starting from her temples and ending lying on her ample chest, each one interwoven with small rubies stung together on a thin goldish silken lace; the remaining thick mass tied up at the back of her neck. A necklace with his insignia hangs in her décolleté – gold of the metal glimpsing on the sun-kissed skin.

Everything is stunning about her, from the face with almond-shaped chestnut-green eyes with long black lashes, high cheek bones and abundant mouth, to her very feminine well-developed curvy figure with a short waist, tempting hipline and long, very appealing legs. Her cosmetics are moderate and irreproachable, her closing and jewelry are luxurious but of an excellent taste, unlike those many of their kind. She truly is a personification of the deity, an eternal beauty to be worshiped reverently by bewitched mortals, an inaccessible ideal.

So very few _living_ know that this ravishing creature in fact is a warrior second to none, and the dead… well, they are not too chatty ones, aren't they? It is no common knowledge as well that not only she is a mate to her Lord – as it is custom to the Goa'uld - but a joint ruler enjoying full rights as well, yet smart enough to leave most of the splendour to him.

Well, not _all_ of it.

"Ah, finely the day starts looking up, now that you're here, my sweet," he says as she approaches and pulls her closer enjoying the sense of the body pressing into him. He brushes his lips against hers before murmuring softly, "Good."

She utters a thoughtful _hmm_. "I awoke completely alone this morning, forgotten and forsaken, with my Lord nowhere in sight. Where is _good_ in that?"

He laughs. "Would you rather fly Gize in the middle of the night to meet our by all means lustrous liege?"

Neither of them ever calls Ra _'father' _ and why would they? There is just one and only admitted heir to the Sun God.

When she makes a face at the suggestion, he nods his content. "I thought so."

"What did he want from you?" she searches his face for an answer.

"It is not only I, but the other underlords too, that were summoned," he drops oh-so-casually.

She raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And may I ask on what occasion?"

"The usual, you know," he deadpans. "Festivities of sorts - Osiris' and Isis' finely had been captured."

"Had?"

"I think this is quite a legitimate statement, yes. See, an extraction already has been executed today, at the dawn - very symbolic, if you ask me. Now, being concealed in the stasis jars for all eternity is not that much of a life, wouldn't you agree, my sweet? Hence, _had_. Or, and by the way, Setesh cooked up this entire 'coup' to seize their dominion, just as I've assumed."

"Poor bastards," she notes, unabashed. "There is a lesson to be learned here."

"Quite so," he agrees. His right hand lifts up and the forefinger starts tracing her jaw line. "Although, I would say there is more then just one lesson in it, my beautiful spouse."

"Oh?" she averts her face just enough so her lips can capture his finger, small shiny-white teeth playfully probing at it.

He greens. "Oh yes, depends on who's learning, my Queen."

"If my Lord says so," she chuckles and bends her head to nuzzle his neck. He closes his eyes briefly and hums appreciatively. Her lips are warm and soft, and she touches and nibs all the right places. A first sting of desire rashes through his body; she tends to do that to him, yes.

He would wanted nothing more that to indulge himself in such pleasant activities right away, but alas, there are things he must get straight first, so instead of letting his hands wonder over her body where he wants them, he slightly slaps her perfect round butt and moves away.

"You can be all naughty later, sweetheart," he says enjoying her immediate pout, "I promise. Sad as it is, right now I need my co-ruler more urgently then my mate."

All the playfulness is gone immediately and she gives him that piercing look of rapt attention that reminds him better then anything else - it matters not how gorgeous a meat suit she wears and what _additional _benefits it grants aside from the main purpose, a Goa'uld Queen she is the first and foremost.

"Surely, it is not those petty fools' fate that disturbs you, my Lord. What is it, then? What else has happened?"

He leaves her and starts pacing. She watches him patiently not pressing the matter further, fingers playing with a tip of her braid. He knows she would wait however long it takes until he is ready to talk, but really, there is no reason to delay. She is the only one he can speak his mind freely to, after all.

He stops near the desk littered with parchments and picks one, showing the scroll to her.

"It is not what happened that perturbs me, Anat," he says with annoyance, "but what _isn't_."

She keeps silent letting him to spill it all, and that he does.

"I keep on receiving reports such as this one, my dear. Do you want to know what's in it?"

He unrolls it and starts reading aloud.

_My Lord, as your true and faithful servant, I hereby feel oblige to inform you…_

Amusement lightens his face up for a moment and the eyebrows lift tells her in no uncertain terms that whoever wrote this managed to widen his already vast experience with servility. He raises his eyes at her, smirking despite previous obvious distress, "I'll skip the usual _the most loyal subject_ blah-blah-blah, however amusing it is - read later if you like - and shall cut to the chaise."

He overruns further, "Oh, there."

_By my own ears I've heard said Otta saying that he intends to keep his firstborn son Sephy from being taken into the services to the master of all living and breathing, our radiant sovereign Ra, when the boy becomes of age. _

"And who is that _said Otta_ again?" she asks, looking more curious than concerned.

He waves his hand dismissively, "Some courtier of Ra's, it's really not that important."

"Why, is it? I hardly think Ra's subjects snitch on each other to you, my love. For once, distance makes it rather challenging. So, what's with the information?"

He drops the scroll back. "Patience, my Queen. I'm getting there."

He crosses his hands over his chest with a slight rustle of a fine brocade auburn rode he wears - too shiny to his taste but very much fitting for visiting the Sun God – and props his back at the table lid.

"It's nothing serious at the first sign, really. A small turmoil here, an unrest their. Slaves defying Jaffa on small occasions. A tribute overdue. A servitude evasion," he tilts his head towards the scroll. "But put this all together and you're getting a bigger picture."

"Which would be…?" she enquires, looking mildly interested now.

"Why, quite obvious it is, my sweet," he says seriously. "We outstayed our welcome here."

She raises an eyebrow, "And this is according to whom?"

"The locals. Tau'ri."

Anat's resounding laugher fills the room. He waits until she stops, holding back the spark of irritation; smart as she is, yet his Queen still prone to the certain kind of blindness so accustomed to their kind.

"Since when does it matter what the slaves think?" she finely manages still gulping for air in after-laugh.

"Did it matter back then, on Kinnahi?" he says coolly, eyes narrowed, and she sobers instantly. "You asked why it is _I,_ who has these reports. Well, then, here is your answer – I am the only one who sees the threat they pose. I am the only one who gathers all the information, every bit of it, and processes _everything_ instead of dismissing out of hand _anything_ that does not fit into my wistful perception of the world."

He crosses hands over his chest, eyes flare in a manifest of temper he allows himself so very far from often. Her eyes widen for a moment and she flinches; treating her as equal he may has, yet her _Lord _he is.

"Seven hours straight at Ra's court," he continues mordantly, face emitting disdain, "and not a single word said about things I read in those papers daily. Not even once the issue's been raised, no admission come that we, if fact, have quite a problem on our hands. No counseling at all that something must be done about it. No proper actions taken. That is, if you don't count Heru'ur's bragging on account of burning some petty settlement with no good reason whatsoever, which of course only serves to enflame the passions further."

He stops to catch his breath and gives her a sharp pointed look calling for her fool attention.

"They do not, _wish not _to see it, but _I_, I've learned my lesson very well, sweetheart."

"The situation was different on Kinnahi. Those hasshak* just got lucky," she notes keeping her voice down and its low rich timbre soothes his irritation somewhat. Than her eyes flash and those full tempting lips of hers form a very unkind snarl-like smile. "Or so they thought. But look how it ended."

"Anat," he pitches the bridge of his nose trying to find a way of explaining what he sees as being blatantly obvious, "there are too many of us here. We interact too closely with the Tau'ri for far too long. We are loosing, if not have lost already, at least partially, what makes us dominant – their blind faith that we are who we _say_ we are. They've started doubt that and where it leads, you must know better then most."

She actually does, being one of those Goa'uld warlords who drove back and sent running for their lives Ishkur's rebelled elite Jaffa when they tried spreading the mutiny into Ra's ranks. The reminiscence lightens up her face with fierce joy and her eyes blaze triumphantly. He realizes only too late that for Anat the memory of the victory, _her victory_, certainly beats _the point _ beside it.

"Doesn't matter," she shrugs gracefully. "We haven't lost our overwhelming superiority and truly, Ba'al, if some pathetic slaves' _thoughts_ bother you, I have quite a simple solution in mind – just tell me, how many I have to kill so they would forget forever_ how to think_ and you could be at peace, my Lord."

He knows she means every word of it. Inhumanly beautiful and utterly mercifulness, that's his Queen. She is not cruel per se, no, but her indifference to anything and anyone but herself borderlines with it very closely. A true Goa'uld. And although her _loyalty_ to him is proven and utterly out of question, sometimes he wonders - if she really cares about _who, _not _what_ he is.

Sentimental talk aside, the fact is, however, no punitive measures would resolve the issue at hand, yet she wouldn't understand that being, quite honestly, a lousy politician. It is very common for his kin to rely wholly on the brute force since it's worked out so well in the past, and insidiousness, however a custom trait to the Goa'uld, has been rarely used when it comes to dialing with slaves; bereaved of other similarities they share, his brethren still would be one stellar-proportion arrogant bunch.

Not that he thinks he _isn't_, but at least he's willing to admit the fact, which, as he suspects, among some other things makes him rather unique.

"Forget Tau'ri," he says dismissively realizing it's getting him nowhere, "tell me though, being a Queen to a mere lieutenant of Ra's, is that what you really want?"

Now, that is definitely has her attention.

"These are dangerous words indeed, my Lord," she draws. "The Sun God known not to be pleased with parvenus unsatisfied with the assigned position."

"Well, I wasn't planning of notifying him in advance, gorgeous; not until we're safely off and have our new position secluded. I already did some pre-planning, you know, on my way back from Gize. It is highly unlikely for Setesh having taken complete, across-the-board control over his new territories right away. Some intriguer he may be, but that doesn't make him that good of a ruler; an administrator - even less so. There will be an opening, a power vacuum in outer regions of Osiris' and Isis' former domain at least for some time. And this is our best chance to make room for ourselves, my Queen."

He saunters towards her and stops close enough to feel the body heat she radiates, his eyes searching her face.

"I think I deserve better than that, Anat," he motions his hand around vaguely. "_We_ deserve better. We deserve to be masters, not humble servants. We deserve to be great. And it's time to start getting to it. Really, it is nothing Ra hasn't done himself if you do remember that the current Supreme System Lord started as a minor underling of Apep's*. And I promise, I am not a fool Osiris was, and Isis' fate shall never befall you. The question is, are you with me, my love?"

She licks her lips, a sudden nervous gesture more fitting to a slave, not a God, but pulls herself together very quickly. He wouldn't expect less of her.

"You know I am, no matter what," his soul mate says in a low - barely short of whisper - but firm and confident voice. "Make us great, my Lord."

"Whatever it takes," he promises before his mouth claims hers.

* * *

><p>A slight clanking sound coming from the entrance following by cautious knocking interrupts his day-dreaming. He drops Reannokia manufactured transporter parts he has been tinkering with absentmindedly back on the workbench and leaves the hideout, setting with one swift push the covering panel into its respectful place, sealing the laboratory from the prying eyes. He walks towards the exit leisurely; he cannot be seen overly interested in whatever news awaiting. When opened, the door predictably reveals a Jaffa guard, which is not so bad itself. That he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other can't be a good sign, though.<p>

"What is it?" he drops casually, not expecting 'it' to be pleasant in a slightest, yet hiding it well.

Things rarely are these days, but a façade must be maintained no matter what.

"We have an incoming transmission, my Lord," the Jaffa falters, so he knows exactly what is to fallow. "Lord Anubis requests to speak with you. If that is your will."

Funny, how his servant actually manages to sound as if he really had any saying in that, as if Anubis was the one to be denied of whichever he demands, even if he has been disguising it as wishes in front of Jaffa for appearances' sake. So far, that's it.

For a moment he entertains himself with a thought whether this servant truly do not understand the scrutiny his master currently in, or he simply does not care, leaving the quarrels between Gods to them as any good little slave presumably should.

The thing is, however, he stopped admire that particular streak in his subjects long time ago. True loyalty, as he has learned, works so mach better than mindless obedience. Ar'tak was prone to speak borderlining on bold sometimes, true, yet, not only he could be trusted, he was actually worth listen to even if his Lord would never admitted it aloud. He could be _talked to_.

Yes, even Gods can suffer loneliness.

None of these thoughts shows on his face, of course.

"Than we shall not keep him waiting. It would be too rude, now, wouldn't it?" he says keeping his expression if only barely interested at all and waves the Jaffa off.

He uses his custom modified kara-kesh to activate a disguised console at the head of the bed and runs his long fingers over the keyboard rerouting the transmission from the Pel'tak receiver to his personal quarters.

He has a feeling this conversation doesn't need any excessive ears.

For a moment he muses over adding static, so if he particularly doesn't like what he hears, than… well, he's not _hearing_ it – a long range transmission _can_ be tricky this way - but eventually decides against it.

However unpleasant, communicating via long range device beats meeting Anubis in person any time. Every time.

He grimaces in disgust at the thought of the other System Lord; alone, he can afford it. Being as tough and unmovable as the Goa'uld come, there is still something about Anubis that almost raises bile up his throat - he somehow feels _wrong_. Then, perhaps, it's due to rotten flesh miasma that radiates from the bastard even when a current host is still new - no amount of refined perfume can completely cover the peculiar stench, although it could be his own senses playing tricks on him.

His repulsion also may have something to do with the fact that once rebelled Lord became something entirely else that he was, that he should be; something more, or less - depends how you'd look at it.

He gives himself a quick once-over in the large mirror to make sure he looks as calm and nonchalant as he should before opening the communication channel. Anubis' face – a holo-image of his _currant_ visage anyway – appears in midair. Since having started taking living flesh he dropped the habit to hide under the deep cowl.

_Not that it improves the matter on the grand scheme of things_, he thinks.

"Ba'al," Anubis offers tonelessly in a manner of greeting, and it suddenly strikes him how similar this is to a way each conversation they've ever had with Samantha Carter's hitchhiker started. Anything could follow this blank tranquility - some polite nothingness' exchange as likely as a dagger-thrust in one's back.

With his current company he would aim for the latter.

It is also unexpectedly comes to his attention that whichever body Anubis uses, his voice won't ever change and not just the Goa'uld duotone of it, no – it's exactly the same rich, throbbing, and to be completely honest, filling with somewhat of primal terror deep low rumble. Then again, that probably shouldn't come as such a surprise in such an old one.

Some say, contrary to the common beliefs he remembers Apep being_ born_.

Dark, very expressive and beautifully shaped eyes – this time he has chosen a handsome vessel indeed, and young one, at that – peer at him intently as if trying to read his thoughts. He doesn't believe it being possible even for this new Anubis, though.

Was that the case, the twice-arisen-former-Goa'uld-System-Lord would've had killed him dead for sure.

Satisfied or the other way around with what he sees, the image of his mortal enemy screws his thin lips discontentedly and states chilly.

"You made yourself awaited. Again."

"I've been busy and answered as fast as I could."

"Your dealings do not concern me. For your own sake see that it won't happen too often."

"Of course, _my Lord_," he bows his head slightly, hiding an angry flash in his eyes at the reproach.

As if he was some negligent slave.

"Now, I want to hear what your progress on the assigned task is."

"The Council forces still struggling, yet they already are desperate enough to seek alliance with the Tau'ri," he says cautiously, "to no avail, of course. Too much history there."

"How low have mighty fallen," Anubis' distaste is palpable. "Abase themselves to asking those primitive species for help. This only proves further how unworthy of the position held for so long they are."

"Indeed, that is an abomination," he agrees aloud while thinking that, evidently, neither countless millennia lived, nor the banishment and death itself taught his adversary a very simple truth.

_**It is not means that matters…**_

_ but victory. _

Luckily, this inner remark is inaccessible to Anubis, so on he goes loftily.

"It pleases me that you would feel this way. I've chosen my _protégé_ right, then. Make them suffer for that too. Crush them down. Belittle them for worlds to see. And then, I shall show to all what a _true_ God is."

Having started as the poorly hidden mockery, Anubis' voice changes to dead serious and rises, eyes flare bigotedly and it sends chills down his spine.

This isn't right, too.

The desire to take over and to have revenge on those who slighted him he would understand perfectly, but this… this… conviction he hears proves that the undead Lord truly believes in what he declares and this is wrong, for he always was known for more then free perception of the Goa'uld _divinity_. He used to drive Ra mad openly deriding the idea. And now not only he suddenly became such an adept, but even has some new appreciation for it.

_**Somehow, I doubt we want to learn on practice what this new vision of his is.**_

_No, we most certainly don't._

"I have been planning to make a move into Olokun's territory next, him being the most weak of all," he says casually, carefully navigating the communication towards the more productive area. "If we are to gain his dominion, it would provide us with the supplies for our troops, among other things. And with them so considerably grown in numbers…"

"I allow it," Anubis interrupts impatiently. "Do what you esteem is necessary, but there is another matter to attend to ab init."

"Whatever you wish," he manages to keep a victorious glimpse in his eyes hidden.

Provisions for troops are essential, indeed, and the Ha'tak building factory and a few repair docks will make a nice income too, but it what he knows about Oyoro* that arrests him the most. And that Anubis in his arrogance apparently pays no attention to what is not such a big secret amongst the System Lords? - Well, some never learn.

"I am sending you coordinates now," the object of his musing rumbles.

He extracts the received data from the package and processes it, placing mentally at the Galaxy map. A perplexed frown accompanies the realization where it supposedly leads.

In the Chapa'ai address book there is a list of worlds every Jaffa has memorized by heart, so his master would never, ever end up there. He remembers them well, too, not being accustomed to trust with such a significant matter of safety to anyone else. And this backwater planet on the outskirts of known space in particular, as he recalls, has been listed as a _forbidden world_.

It is not one of the warfare suffered places where due to the drastic actions taken even the Goa'uld exceptional vitality fails to endure the environment; neither does it belong to the Protected Planets Treaty. It has just always been known there is no coming back from the certain points of destination, were they reached through the Chapa'ai or else. As to why, wild speculations is the anyone's best guess as neither of the Jaffa troops sent nor even single one of the reckless Goa'uld youth decided to try their luck – no sane Lord in position of power would take such an unnecessary risk - ever came back.

A mystery he would definitely like to solve but on his own terms. Having the subject been brought by Anubis, however, immediately raises alarm bells. Could that be some elaborate act to get rid of him? That seems unlikely that Anubis would ever need a cover up at all if this was his intention, but what could possibly he be wanting from Ba'al in regard to such a place?

"One of forbidden worlds, if I read it right," he raises his eyebrow in a query, appearing calm and if only mildly interested, but it doesn't come easy. "What of it?"

"Worry not my _faithful _associate," his tone derisive, Anubis hardly loiters to show his apprehension has been noted, "I have nothing particularly life threatening for you in mind. For now."

He remains silent – what could be possibly said to that? – and only his kara-kesh free hand clenches into a fist, nails digging into his palm deeply. The pain helps to control the fury suddenly arisen from the depths of what he is at the poorly disguised threat.

"This operation must not draw the Council attention, or Tok'ra traitors and their new Tau'ri friends for that matter," the holo-image continues, oblivious to his vis-à-vis emotional turmoil, or - and that is as likely - caring not for it in a slightest. "Discretion is crucial here. Set up a ruse to keep them busy, make a splash - something they won't be able to miss. If you're also managed to set them off against each other, well, it's all the better. Meanwhile, have your Ha'tak waiting at the coordinates I gave you. The ring-transporter line must stay open and clean all the time. Have your best Jaffa guarding the platform around the clock. Whatever arrives, notify me immediately."

"For how long should I wait?"

"Not you. Your Ha'tak is all that required, as it has been installed recently with the additional firepower and shields, hasn't it? I believe crafty Nerus made himself quite useful on his last visit, though I also recall him complaining about your lack of hospitality."

"Why, because he had to share a room with his Orak bodyguards?"

He would certainly not have _those_ cut loose on his ship, thank you very much, so if the fat Goa'uld felt like he needed them… well then.

"Why, I believe it had something to do with how scars his meals were; completely inadequate compare to a fine job he was making for you, if Nerus to be believed," Anubis chuckles with actual _humor_, and for a moment he almost appears his former normal self - a person Ba'al remembers vaguely from the times of his youth, long gone.

"To make them Nerus-adequate I would've had to have my entire Jaffa contingent starving, I'm afraid." He goes for keeping up with this sudden lightness. "So, if your intent is to keep him happy, this is where Olokun's territories with abundant food supplies would come in handy."

"Aren't you a cunning one," Anubis observes with sudden chill, showing one of those dangerous mood-swings he is so apprehensive of; too unpredictable they are, your never know what to expect, "and persistent, at that. Fine, make that strike you so longing for the distraction I told you of. The location of Olokun's domain suits this purpose well enough, anyhow."

"As you wish," he bows his head slightly.

It never hurts to show some respect. True or false, that is entirely different matter.

"Lead you strike, _Lord Ba'al_, but remember – fail me, and you will be wishing I have sent you to a forbidden world in person. Make a delivery, and you may yet have a future."

He manages a crooked smile and a curt nod, "Understood."

"Good. By the way, did you seem a little jealous of Nerus' special security detail? Don't be; the fatso has his uses. And, as apparently do you – you will have one of your own."

And with that the image vanishes.

He swears under his breath. What he really doesn't need - especially now, with the plans for Olokun's legacy and that little nice conspiracy plot involving his new Tau'ri girlfriend - is two Onak absolutely, unquestionably loyal to Anubis, as that is what they programmed for, watching him all the time.

He walks towards the small table and lowers himself into the chair. After a long, long pause in which he studies the chess-board for what feels like a hundredth time, he moves his Queen and smiles, satisfied.

_**He thinks he knows it all.**_

_Ah, but there is so much for him to learn._

* * *

><p><span>Goa'uld language:<span>

*Pyramid - Cheops class warship;

*hasshak – fool, fools (insult);

*Apep – the second ruler of the First Goa'uld Dynasty (killed Atok, his farther, and succeeded him in around 22000 B.C.);

*Oyoro – a planet of Olokun's Dominion with, as the rumor has it, some device of un-deciphered functioning, presumably turned it from fertile to barren;


End file.
